◤𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕒𝕞𝕪◢ - It Started With Vomit!

Chapter 7 | Wedding Blues

. . .

'The nine-hour plane flight and 6-hour time difference between Sega and Monacy's a f*cking pain in the *ss', Shadow thought as he undid his tightly-wound tie from around his neck.

It always took a heavy toll on even the strongest and most frequent of travellers, so he didn't particularly enjoy making such abrupt trips back home in such a fashion; not for himself or anybody else.

"MARY!" he yelled gravely, but to no response.

His voice simply danced around the empty space of his Monacy residence living room before disappearing into a vast nothingness.

"MARY LAMB!" he yelled again. But there was no response - yet again.

His eyes thinned in utter anger.

"Why the hell do I even bother," He sighed, throwing his coat, tie, watch, and God knows what else - previously in his grasp - onto the floor.

He wasn't exactly a tidy individual.

"The point of having housekeepers is to relieve the effort made in such areas, so I shouldn't be feeling like I'm paying these people for doing absolutely nothing! I swear, I'm going to go straight ahead and fire them one day --" But mid-way into his sentence, an old maid came running in from the nothingness like she was being chased by the devil himself; or more accurately, mindlessly running at his beckoning.

"Mr. Hedgehog! Mr. Hedgehog!" she cried.

"Mrs. Lamb," he bid distastefully. His usually mindless yet polite habit of calling out one's last name as a way of acknowledging their presence suddenly exposed a bitter sentiment.
"I recall telling Mr. Crane to tell you I was well on the way," he sterned.

"Why w-we were not expecting you all of a sudden a-and then--"

"Get a bath going." He interrupted. "I'll be briefly stopping at my cousin's wedding tonight and this look isn't exactly 'all the rage'." His every word practically mocked his ragged, untamed, and unmanaged self. Yet somehow - notably not to him - it only outlined his muscular physic and made him all the more strappingly masculine.

His slender fingers neatly undid his silver buttons one after another, exposing his bare, consummate skin. So impeccably perfect that the old woman watching him couldn't help but drool from both ends of her mouth.

"Euh, yes! Right! Right -- a bath! I will get Zoe on it right away," she fled in a red tint, blushing uncontrollably. In her head, she condemned herself for having such lustful thoughts of a man old enough to be her youngest son! But deep within her, another condoling thought chimed in, saying: "Could anyone really not think it even a little though? I mean--, just look at the man!"

Then came a fiercely opposing one: "For the love of God, Mary! Control you're urges as the adult you are!"

"Mary! There is nothing wrong with admiring the beauty of anything! That is why you were given eyes in the first place!" the other one came in just as fierce.

"Mary, don't think such ludicrous things; It's utterly stupid! Your eyes could see the crudest things in this world if you let it, and admiring your 30-years-younger-than-you boss's six-pack is not far from the definition of crude!"

"Mary! He is pure art!"

"Mary! He is NOT!"

"Mrs. Lamb."

"YES SIR!" She squawked loud, afraid that somehow he had just heard her every inner thought between her angel and her devil.

Mostly the devil's.