Sebastian Ellington

I thought you knew I was filthy rich
I thought you knew I never answer my phone
I thought you knew I was a late night with a bad bite I thought you knew.

The vampire was hardly unaware of that state of his home in the wake of that small, unexpected visitor. Nor had it passed by his notice the fashion at which Dorian had clearly made an effort to tend to the damage in his absence. The hall table had returned to it's proper state, those books safely tucked away on the living room bookshelf along with those little figurines of deer and other oddities he had collected in his expeditions around the world. Everything was slowly being put back to how it should have been, even if Sebastian remained uncertain how to keep his life in this same pristine state now that Anna-Marie knew everything he had to lose. Gingerly, his lips pressed together in a decidedly chaste kiss against his lover's forehead though he hardly lingered long there, not yet. He knew well that Dorian had questions of his own making and that decidedly finicky relationship he had with that child and yet, truly, he found some need for something to sooth his nerves enough to find some sort of comfort in the rest of the evening. He inquired over his shoulder if Dorian had ever indulged in that Gin that was so particularly popular within his own culture, that beverage was the water of Victorian lower class society. He was hardly surprised, really, that the Monarch had scarcely an idea of it's existence. It was, after all, the epitome of a stiff English drink.

A small shrug crossed his shoulder at that inquiry, "I suppose it can be, depends on how good the quality is." He commented. His lips parted with the intention to inform his lover further on those bottles he kept only for those words to stop entirely short as he stepped into that kitchen. The name of that teapot so immediately fell from his lips as he eyed the utter disaster his kitchen had become, the man near rushing towards the broken fragments of his beloved kettle. Gingerly he picked up those pieces, attempting to put them back together again in the way they should have been, even if it was an entirely fruitless endeavor. Slowly, he found himself settling amongst the remains in an almost childish effort to fix his beloved teapot, the bright blue object so delicately nestled in his lap as he tried to place those shattered bits back onto her cracked surface - that drink he had near been dying for was wholly forgotten in the wake of that loss of that singular ceramic item that had been with him for near decades. He was aware, vaguely, of Dorian's hand upon his shoulder and yet, his eyebrows remained wrinkled as he so focused on piecing those broken pieces in his hands back together.

It was those softly uttered words that drew those bright blue eyes towards the fae King, his lips pressing ever so slightly in a frown and yet, the admittance that Florence had been shattered by Dorian's own lack of knowledge somehow seemed to bring a hint of defeat within him. A soft sigh left his lips as he regarded that kettle, the man near giving up on repairing it and yet, he held no real resentment towards the man he so deeply cherished. He shook his head ever so slightly at his lover's apology, dismissing that broken teapot altogether. "It's fine, I'll just...buy another." The vampire muttered softly, his gaze tracing that crack even as Dorian so considered ways to remedy this. He remained oblivious, in those moments, of the damage his lover had suffered in that time he'd spent alone with his maker. Indeed, the man was already rather put out by the girl, to see the blistering upon Dorian's hands surely would not have helped his current and quickly worsening mood in the slightest. Rather, he found himself leaning backwards against that tiled floor, his back flush with the floor as he stared upwards at the ceiling and those bright lights overhead. That reach for those pieces within his fingers only briefly caught his gaze and yet he willingly yielded them to the Monarch. Delicately, he placed that cracked pot rest upon his chest. His free hand traced that indentation within her surface as he let that silence exist between them, the Englishman, for once, utterly at a loss for words.

He let that stillness exist for several moments as the fae Monarch plucked that ivory paint pastel from his pocket, filling in those cracks in a clear effort to see if his affinity might repair that teapot. Frankly, after tonight's events, Sebastian wasn't particularly hopeful. That quiet inquiry prompted a sigh from the Englishman as he reached up to place one arm behind his head in a rather makeshift pillow of sorts. "Yes." That singular word fell hesitantly from his lips, a small frown traced his features before the vampire paused to add, "I think if you laugh at me for it too, I might give up on tonight altogether." Sebastian admitted, remembering well Ceara's reaction at the discovery that a vampire child had been the one to so usher him into the afterlife. "As if Ceara didn't know what she was capable of." He grumbled, more to himself then his lover, "So bloody funny three grown men couldn't take down a vampire." Sebastian's eyebrows furrowed as his thoughts so lingered upon that evening nearly two hundred years prior. So much had been taken from him that night - and far too many lives still lost in those months that followed. Still, it was only thanks to that immortality that he had found his boyfriend, surely it was worth it all for this, was it not?

Sebastian tried to find the silver lining in all that had occurred this evening - hell, in all of those encounters with the young child. In truth, he could scarcely think of a single meeting with her that ended on any particular high note. He cleared his throat, attempting to steer that conversation back on point and without that internal wallowing in self-pity that so threatened to overtake him. "Usually I try to...placate her...in some regards, but I'm afraid I misstepped tonight. Forgive me." It was the best description he could truly offer of his usual efforts to control the child beneath his sway of pheromones but her sudden desire to live with him and the tantrum that followed had all but decimated his usually more manipulative demeanor. It had been Dorian who had suffered from such a lapse in judgment and inwardly, he could hardly help but to berate himself for putting the Monarch in such a fragile situation. His gaze flickered towards his lover as that small piece of the teapot was handed back to him. His bright blue eyes brushed over the surface of that ceramic, entirely impressed that Dorian had repaired it in the slightest. Unfortunately, Sebastian found himself entirely unable to muster the same sort of enthusiasm for this fix, his own mirrored smile altogether weak in comparison. "You know this will take you all night." He commented softly, glancing down at those pieces, some of which were altogether minuscule in the flakes that had fallen from Florence's surface. "You don't have to do this, Dorian." He was making an effort, at least, to let this one go, even if the teapot had once been sentimental enough to earn a name.