He was still brooding over Camelot, undecided if he should have taken advantage of the knights injuries and beaten him within an inch of his life... maybe gone for the starseed... and the very strange idea that agents were the same... the same 'thing' as knights, one with the touch of Chaos, one without.

If he'd taken his starseed, or just gone in punching, the whole conversation would have been less of an issue... mostly because it wouldn't have happened, but it had happened, and it was still getting under his skin.

Anyway he wasn't sure if taking Camelot's starseed actually served much point anyway. He had seen Zinkenite maybe... maybe twice since his corruption, mostly when they were summoned to the invasion of the Senshi meeting, and past that he felt a bit... cut loose. He wasn't even sure if they were supposed to be taking starseeds or just energy.

Other Lieutenants had been assigned to captains and he didn't have that, just a brief encouragement during the battle, and no answers still on what the hell Remarque meant by 'plans' for that senshi.

He'd taken on a number of senshi more powerful than himself already and felt... Well... at the time he'd felt exhilarated. Mostly afterward he felt unsatisfied. The challenge of the battle was short lived and he always wanted more afterward, something else to make him feel alive, like he was making a difference, even while he ached with bruises and waited to heal.

It was like a drug, but the high was gone even faster, and it wasn't enough. He wasn't quite sure what WAS enough. He wasn't sure if anything was.

He had crawled out and sat on the fire escape with his feet crossed and a half empty beer by his knee. Thingie was draped across his lap, purring and mostly asleep, doing starfish paws that dug claws through the fabric of his jeans hard enough he was pretty sure there would be little red spots of blood when he changed for bed.

He should go to bed but he didn't want to. He was too charged up. Too... not energetic... no... too... too hungry. He needed something but he still didn't know what it was, though the urge was to go and do something irresponsible. To drive his bike at it's fastest through the street, daring anyone to try and pull him over or hit the fragile, fast machine and rider... go pub crawling and pick a fight with the biggest bruiser in the place, without powering up.

'Urge to self harm', he was pretty sure it was called, the urge to destroy yourself, though instead of pills or sharp edges he was using other people, in order to disperse the blame. He knew he was. He knew it, but it was like having an itch you had to scratch until it bled, and he wasn't sure he wanted to fix it.

He wondered if noble, sanctimoniously obnoxious Camelot would want to 'save' him as badly if he knew the degree to which he was dealing with damaged goods.

He took another swig of beer and put the bottle down again with a clunk, fitting a hand under Thingie to carefully lift the small cat off his lap and encourage him back through the window in spite of a sleepy mew of protest and the scrape of claws on fabric.

"Lets go. Inside. I'm going to get my coat and go back out for a while." He informed the cat, slipping back inside after him and reaching back to retrieve the beer bottle. "You guys watch the place for me, alright?"

He had to get out for a while. There was too much going on in his head and he needed air.

"Don't worry, I'm not taking the bike."
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643 words.