Re: Abaddon & Scion
Frederick kept going on automatic pilot, as it were. He simply let Abaddon point him at things and he went and did them. He felt a mounting anger that soon turned to rage, because he knew Abaddon already saw him as weak, and tonight's performance must have only cemented that poor opinion of him. His frustration only grew because at one point he was going as fast as he could, tearing through those endless drawers of files when he noticed he was crying. His control was hanging by a thread, and his hands looked like monstrous claws, the pseudo-metallic surface of them coarse and uneven, like a gritty mud sculpture that dried all wrong. But he kept going, and going. As his anger grew, he started snarling, and a few times he even tore the drawers right out of the cabinets in his rage, papers scattering everywhere as he dropped them.
His hands were shaking so hard, he almost couldn't open his side pack where he kept the supplies. He raced through the aisles, spraying the incendiary aerosol in a hurry, and finally setting the timed charge as close to the center of the room as he could figure before. He viciously rubbed his eyes against his sleeve on his way out of the room. "Done," he said, his voice higher than usual, almost boyish.