harderdaddy | (Reply)

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[ he goes to the studio.

without all of the lights and equipment up and running, without the shuffling of crew and interns, it's almost eerily quiet. unsettlingly still in the near-dark, valentino standing motionless like a shadow in the middle of the wide open space. for a few long moments, he just stands there, his breathing the only sound in the silence, eyes emitting a soft red glow. by his sides, long fingers have curled into tight fists, shoulders almost uncomfortably tense.

it's loud, when he throws the first light. valentino moves with a purpose, boots clicking on the tiles as he stalks toward the nearest followspot, throwing it over and sending it crashing to the ground like it's made of paper and not metal and plastic and glass. the bulb shatters on impact, little shards of glass skittering over the tiles like rock skipping on water, but it's not enough.

in the span of only fifteen minutes, valentino trashes the studio. hundreds, if not thousands of dollars done in damages to setwork and equipment. broken rigs, snapped boom sticks, at least one camera cracked and split somewhere at his feet. there's new blood smeared in his hands, palms cut up from broken glass, and when there's nothing left for him to upset, he's still alone.

mildly out of breath and hot under his collar, valentino inhales slowly, closing his eyes and tilting his chin up as he tries to calm himself down.

angel could have fucking died tonight - permanently. valentino could have lost everything over the smallest oversight. when it comes to the angels and their weapons, he's always kept angel safe, but this was different. this was nothing compared to the exorcists, and he still almost got played by a bunch of shitbags he practically handed angel over to.

it cannot happen again. valentino won't let it.

when he returns just twenty minutes after he left, he's obviously a little bit disheveled. valentino opens and closes the door just as quietly as he did when he left, and he only briefly acknowledges angel as he passes behind the couch on his way to the stairs, blood-speckled hands already working to roll his sleeves down to make it easier to get out of his shirt. ]

Have you eaten? [ he sounds casual, like he didn't just trash the fuck out of his studio, tossing the question over his shoulder as he starts up the stairs. ]