#baxterabbott

@baxterabbott:

It had been at least a month since Baxter had come home in his employer’s 1958 BMW from his errands and found the mansion alive. The Valet, of course, knew what this meant. It would seem that his boss’ recent relationship had come to an end as they all seemed to sooner or later. The younger man stepped out of the car in the parking garage and gently shook his head quietly to himself as he unloaded the groceries and cleaning products he’d bought, as the songs guitar notes echoed down the parking garage from the house’s speakers. It would likely be a long and noisy day, and Baxter would be sure to poke his head in and make sure Sephyr was not doing anything untoward to himself… again.

He made his way inside and placed plastic bags down in front of cabinets where he would need to put away their contents later. The sooner he checked in on his boss the better. It would not have been the first time he’d of found Sephyr nearly overdosed. As Baxter made his way up the stairs he mumbled a mantra to himself as his own style of prayer – “He won’t be doing anything this time.” He repeated that to himself four or five times before he got to what he assumed was the correct room, as the door was closed. He took in a deep breath to prepare for anything unsightly and to calm and center himself before he opened the door.

Baxter pushed the door inwards and found Sephyr lying upside down on his armchair like a lunatic. Without so much as a word the valet marched in to the room with the same unemotional look on his face as he made his way to the stereo system’s volume control and turned it down to its ‘below deafening’ settings before he turned to face his employer.

“You’re a musician,” he said simply, “you will be needing those ears of yours. I don’t know why you insist on trying to destroy them.”

The music had been turned up so loud that Sephyr hadn’t even heard the door to the room he was in open. His eyes had been closed, his feet the only thing moving with the beat. When this mood struck, the only thing he found that helped was musical therapy. the one thing in life that had never let him down, save Baxter of course. When the volume dropped, the usually cranky Rock Star froze, one eye lifting open before it was joined by the second at the sound of his Valet’s voice. Before he spoke, he tipped his head to look at the clock upside-down. He could obviously still tell the time.

“You’re an hour early.” Sephyr said, though he managed to keep the note of disappointment out of his tone. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Baxter there. That was something he had always been selfish about. It was more the lack of deafening music. It was easier to get over mental issues when you couldn’t hear yourself think.

Interesting fact about Sephry:

Lost it at Finn…

The dull and rhythmic pounding behind his eyes was enough to draw him from his unconscious state. He groaned quietly as his body dragged his mind from the sweet dreamland he’d created, away from the memories and the comfort of having his love with him. The pain of reality, the seer discomfort of coming off of a high hit him like a plane crashing into the ocean. The hangover wasn’t helping either. He swallowed with some effort, realizing in that moment he had no idea when the last time he’d had anything to drink was. He took in a sharp breath, making an attempt to sit up.

At first his body would allow no such thing. He was mostly paralyzed there, his limbs refusing to move, either out of protest for the poor care he had taken of them in the last few months, or simply because his mind wasn’t functioning well enough for his nerves to get the message. He wasn’t certain just exactly which one it was, all he knew was that it was infuriating. He needed coffee, or water, or both. He needed to get up, to move, to start the day.

‘Why?’ The voice in the back of his head hummed. ‘You know you’re just going to get high and go back to bed. Cut out the middle man, Sephy!’

He groaned again, this time managing to roll himself over and at the very least, prop himself up on and elbow. He would manage getting up eventually, he always did, but the voice was right. When he did finally manage to get up, he’d have water and coffee, take a hit and drink some scotch before falling back in his bed again. That was how it had been for the last two years. It was a wonder he wasn’t dead yet.

The sound the door opening was the first thing to take his attention, followed by the strong smell of coffee. He managed to force his eyes open just enough to look toward the door, but they closed again as they made contact with the dull light streaming in. He’s managed a glimpse of a figure coming through the door and for a moment he thought this might be the end of him. Then again, an intruder wouldn’t bring coffee, would they?