The next morning was a morning Scapegrace wished never came to be. Taking it out on Thrasher seemed to be the reasonable thing to do and so he did, it just wasn't in Thrasher's mindset – as of yet anyway – that things were going to get harder for him to NOT picture, imagine, fantasise Master Scapegrace that way. Especially not when it came to the conversation itself and the reason why Scapegrace found it absolutely reasonable to converse with a red-blooded man he owned.
Clearly Thrasher isn't anything more than what Scapegrace thought him to be; a slave.
"Thrasher, why the hell do I have to wear underwear? And who the hell invented bras?" she says while lounging around on a beat down sofa, the cushion barely keeping her aloft as she sat there tenderly – finding a comfortable position, maintaining it and making absolute sure she wasn't losing her comfort zone anytime soon.
Too bad Thrasher's comfort zone went out the window.
"W-what Master Scapegrace?" he asked after sometime. His eyes nearly popped out of its sockets and he nearly cut his finger when the butcher knife snapped the fish's head right off its body.
The aftermath being a bloody mess that had Scapegrace nearly losing her nerve when Thrasher turned around from where he stood in the small kitchenette; blood splattered all over his face like he was done butchering a body and spilt guts were splattered over his shirt. The fact that he looked scared shitless wasn't helping matters at all in Scapegrace's case.
I mean to her it looked like she was looking at a psychotic murderer about to rip into her already bleeding guts.
So please excuse her for getting the nearest thing to her and throwing at Thrasher's head. The thing she picked up was a lamp and the glass shattered against his head upon impact – leaving him even bloodier before as Scapegrace screamed the life out of her lungs.
"What the hell is wrong with you Thrasher?! Do you want to kill me or what?" she cried out as she scampered behind the sofa, barely wedging herself between that and the broken window sill behind her.
Thrasher nearly bonked out by the impact of the lampshade shattering into pieces but the moment that statement left her strawberry, quivering and heart-shaped lips he dropped everything and came at her with the same, frantic and scared look on his face. As if something precious was getting yanked out of his place (his fast-paced heart) and there was nothing he could do about it.
Scapegrace peeked over the sofa, after ducking under its cover when she said her piece, and screamed in surprise as she sees Thrasher right in her face, and a moment later, pulling her up and into his tight embrace.
Hugging her to him tightly Thrasher could still see the heightened fear Master Scapegrace drew out of her due to her period. He knew she was going to fall prey to the affects her menstrual cycle was going to do to her but he didn't expect it to come out in such a way!
He didn't want her to be afraid of him!
Anything, anything but that!
"O-oi! Thr-mmph! Mmph!" Scapegrace started but Thrasher pulls her into his chest by the head and refuses to let her go until he's said his piece.
Maybe he was overreacting but he'd be damned if he were to be the one responsible for putting that feared expression on her, he never wanted to be the cause for such disparity.
"I'm sorry Master. I'm sorry Master, I'm sorry – please don't be afraid of me. Hate me, despise but don't ever feel afraid of me Master." He pleaded brokenly.
Seeing a grown man cry was something no person should ever see – it's why Thrasher held onto Scapegrace close to his heart.
But to Scapegrace it was more of the matter of breathing that he was more worried about. Fighting valiantly against the warmth that chest was bringing him was more of a hard job than anything he has had to deal with – especially when it was coming from Thrasher his slave.
One punch did it though; it was more due to the pent up magical release his body conjured up right then and there. The blast came out in a blue fireball out of his palm and blew right into his body. A moment later Thrasher felt his heart thump once – reverberating throughout his entire body.
His eyes widen and a silent scream escapes him as he's suddenly swept off his feet and is crashing over the chairs and lands over the kitchenette table, hitting his head on the stove edge as his body slumps forward.
Scapegrace took one look at his hand and dashed out to Thrasher's side.
"Thrasher! Thrasher you idiot! Wake up!" He was panicking as he knelt by his side and felt his head.
The moment he felt more blood coming out of his wounds Scapegrace felt his gut wrench open and looked down to see if it really did.
Obviously no but it might as well - with how stupid he was reacting over him and his sudden fear conjuring out of nowhere, he found himself the cause of his downfall and might as well be the one being feared here than fearful.
Without even thinking Scapegrace snapped his fingers and a blue flame lit up on his index finger. Making a circle with the fire-lit finger he concentrated on the one person able to help with this emergency.
Clarabelle came up immediately in the blue flame's flickering light. It seemed like she could see the flame itself and she was perplexed as to what it was – that is, until she saw who it reflected through the flames' lighting. The next instant she's in the small apartment with Scapegrace who is crying out for her to help the unconscious Thrasher. The whole image forces Clarabelle to move into action – the sensation familiar to when she's usually working with the doctor.
When Thrasher wakes up he groans a little and feels his head. There's a bandage tightly bound on his entire head and his temples are throbbing by the tight contraption. Nonetheless he figured he was seriously wounded by the way he was feeling so of course it was all necessary for him to recover.
"Thrasher? Are you awake?" sweet honey, nectar that should have sound demanded was – to his ears – pathetic.
Alarm bells went up and over his head like a blaring siren and it had him sitting up immediately in haste to see what was wrong with Master Scapegrace.
"Master! What's wrong?" he demanded. He reached over to her slumped form where she laid herself on the bed, the bed where he was residing himself.
She glared pathetically at him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears and a scowl so set on being menacing ended up looking pitifully.
"You're what's wrong you wreck! You completely fell unconscious and wouldn't wake up! No matter how hard I hit you! And- and," at this she sniffed pathetically, and her tears fell down her face. Thrasher's heart thumped one slow second at a time.
Whoever said women crying were beautiful were absolutely wrong. There wasn't anything beautiful in seeing the one you love be in anguish over you. There isn't anything to feel good about it – what's so good about being the cause of pushing someone over a bridge and seeing them cry out in fear of you? There is nothing beautiful about it – so what's makes being the reason for them to cry because they fear for you any different?
Nothing, there is nothing – they both leave you shit and Thrasher felt like the worst of the worst – there was nothing to liken how his heart felt at this moment.
Shit was a pretty normalizing way to put things into perspective but it sounded fitting to how he felt right now.
Taking hold of Scapegrace's grace Thrasher gently lifted the poor form of Scapegrace and settled her into his arms once more, careful to cradle her while avoiding the sore spots on his stomach. She didn't protest as she laid her head against his chest and clutched at his shirt through her tears. Thrasher said nothing as he closed his eyes and laid his chin on top of her soft hair. The silence continued until both Thrasher and Scapegrace fell asleep.
When Clarabelle came back from the itinerary room to check up on Thrasher's condition, what she saw made her blink twice. Then she smiled cutely and rushed back to get her camera out of her back. The Doctor wasn't in at the moment so she had the home-made clinic all to herself the whole day, and she wasn't going to be bored any time soon.
Pulling back the curtains she stood in front of the sleeping pair and started clicking away.
"I wonder how much these would sell?" she said to no one.
Either that or she could use it for reference to her Fanfiction collection that she does on the side. She was rather popular on those sites really and having some money wouldn't hurt a fly. Giggling again she takes a couple more pictures of the pair and reminds herself to send one to Skulduggery when she'd on the computer – he'd be sure not to appreciate it and that was all the more reason to send it off to him.
K.A: Hope you guys like this. I'm keeping it real fluffy and nice for all you Shippers out there – that and I've come to realise that keeping it light is my cup of tea for this couple at the moment.