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Summary
Augustus was like his nephew; cool, ashy hair, eyes green like sea water. His face was sharp and serious, his cheekbones high and haughty, the corners of his lips always drawn down in a disapproving frown. He carried himself with a distinct air of pride that only came from Tenebrae, that only generations of familial honor could uphold. Though he was silent now, Noct could hear his pretentious accent and the way he talked down to people he found unworthy of his attention.
And there were marks on him.
Part of his eye was blackened and a red bruise blossomed on his jaw. Two of his fingers were splinted on one hand; on the other, a stiff brace held his thumb stationary. All of his knuckles were swollen and discolored and he looked tired.
But all Noct could think about at that exact moment was grabbing his collar and shaking until he spat out the answer to Where the hell is Ignis?!
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(AKA: Ignis's uncle has struck him for the last time.)