Corrupt's presence could be felt even if he wasn't in the room. It was always the same wave of outrage that filled a room like a gas leak, a signature feeling of dread that clung to him like a strong cologne.
The lights went out so quickly that it could've been misinterpreted as a simple blink, and Corrupt sat with his fingers interlocked across from Alistair. Trails of blood ran down his eyes and nose, the dry and wet stains on his shirt along with the paleness of his skin encouraged the thought the bleeding had been continuous.
„You wanted to ask your little queries about lil' ol' me? Go ahead. Shoot. Tell me what's on your mind, buttercup. I love to talk.”
Despite his words, his tone proved he couldn't care less about whatever Alistair had wanted to ask. He expected the usual questions. 'Why are you like this?' 'Where did you come from?' Valid questions, of course, but ones he had answered to hundreds of others before.
Alistair stood up, grabbing Corrupt by the shoulders, before hugging him gently. He could give Corrupt the tea later. He just wanted to hug Corrupt, and in the same action, hug Teddie.
