sunburnt breastplates, dying laughter, bruises, rumors of fresh reserves, memories of high treason
{{Wobbledy-dated? IT HAPPENED SOMETIME.}}
J is not terribly happy as he's escorted to the Kashtta Tower, and most of his attention is focused on keeping his hackles down. Despite the fact that he threw himself to the mercy of the archangels of his own volition, being here - rehabilitative custody, as if it's not a joke in implication - everything about this place and whatever waits for him inside those doors is reading as DANGER to him and he can't shove that away. The best he can do is not let it show. Much. To anyone who doesn't know him well.
He's not handcuffed, which gives him no excuse whatsoever for having nothing to do with his hands. After some consideration he clasps them behind his back, letting his shoulders fall, letting his head hang just enough that he's not presenting challenge or resistance. He can display threatlessness, even when harmlessness is enough of a lie to constitute an insult.
One of the archangels glances back at him as she walks up to the Kashtta door, repositioning transfer papers in her hand. Prisoner transfer was something she'd hoped to avoid by joining up with an archangel group rather than, say, local police, but Chicago fucks up everyone's plans. She's kinda used to it.
She pulls open the door, holding it open long enough for one of the archangels behind her to grab and hold open, and walks into the Tower's lobby. She clears her throat.
"Right. Let's get this over with, eh?" One transfer form, one clipboard, and one pen uncapped and ready for the signing, coming right up.
J is not terribly happy as he's escorted to the Kashtta Tower, and most of his attention is focused on keeping his hackles down. Despite the fact that he threw himself to the mercy of the archangels of his own volition, being here - rehabilitative custody, as if it's not a joke in implication - everything about this place and whatever waits for him inside those doors is reading as DANGER to him and he can't shove that away. The best he can do is not let it show. Much. To anyone who doesn't know him well.
He's not handcuffed, which gives him no excuse whatsoever for having nothing to do with his hands. After some consideration he clasps them behind his back, letting his shoulders fall, letting his head hang just enough that he's not presenting challenge or resistance. He can display threatlessness, even when harmlessness is enough of a lie to constitute an insult.
One of the archangels glances back at him as she walks up to the Kashtta door, repositioning transfer papers in her hand. Prisoner transfer was something she'd hoped to avoid by joining up with an archangel group rather than, say, local police, but Chicago fucks up everyone's plans. She's kinda used to it.
She pulls open the door, holding it open long enough for one of the archangels behind her to grab and hold open, and walks into the Tower's lobby. She clears her throat.
"Right. Let's get this over with, eh?" One transfer form, one clipboard, and one pen uncapped and ready for the signing, coming right up.