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Summary
He stares disconnectedly down at his rippling reflection in the slow growing puddle between his feet. All he sees is the pathetic and weak beast Alastor had sneered about.
Friendship in Hell. What a cruel fucking joke.
The falling rain obscures his face in the dirty puddle. It's nearly impossible to see his weeping eye. Nearly impossible to read his expression at all.
A vague plan starts to take shape. Something he should have considered long ago. Alastor had always poked fun at him for wearing his heart on his sleeve, for being so expressive and wide eyed. Well no more. Maybe…never again.
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Or: After the explosive fall out with Alastor Vox goes about his rise to power a little differently.