He growled between his teeth, the bleach stung and felt like it was eating through his flesh, but, in the same time he liked it in a weird way. It felt like it was provoking him to be angry and he liked angry, he needed angry, he felt so confused and angry and… powerful and was practically waiting for something or someone to taunt him, craving for release.
He dipped his hands into the water in the sink, still stung. He washed his face and waited, he haven’t kept the box so he’d have to estimate the amount of time it’d take for his hair to be completely different than before, he wouldn’t risk everything looking still like Harold Saxon, even if he was wearing old and tattered clothes now – a blessing he acquired from a VERY short lived friendship – he still looked like him so he needed something drastic.
He stretched his back and waited more, looking angrily at the mirror.
He shoved his head under the faucet and started rinsing maniacally, get rid of that stuff, the sting, off with it, off, he wasn’t going to be waiting any more, that ought to be enough, this thing was powerful the damage to his hair color would be considerable by now. He felt so hot and full of energy his hands were almost dry now so did his hair, it felt weird but good, starving though, really starving, he could eat a whole…
Man. In his bathroom. In his public bathroom, anyway, it was HIS regardless. He swiftly turned, there was a muffled sound of joints cracking, vertebrae.
He stopped and abruptly changed his tone, no need to be obvious, you are not desperate, Master… You were always more polite with your victims, now, don’t be an animal…