Enjolras was what one could be considered a god awful mess. He was soaked to the bone, there were still shards of glass that he hadn't managed to pull out on his own in his hands and knuckles. He was bloody and exhausted, his clothes torn and his eyes bloodshot. The hallucinogenic drugs seemed to have finally worn off, but that wasn't saying much.

Dripping wet he squealched his way through the warehouse, looking fiercely annoyed, and not half so sullen or cowed as he probably should have been. Calhoun's little stunt had really only served to make him angrier, and he'd held out until the very last moment he possibly could have in the elevator.

In a way, it was sort of a free bath- that ended with him looking even worse for the wear than before...