i wear my sins on the outside, close to the skin
[Set shortly after this thread, with Cwirko.]
Iris Fortner is in the Kashtta, headed for her shared bathroom and looking pretty distracted. And filthy. Specifically, her shirt, her hands, and parts of her face are splashed, smeared, striped or dotted with angel blood. She's not really paying much attention to her surroundings, so it's possible she'll walk right into you, which you really don't want unless you have some sort of survival-horror-slash-angel fetish.
She wants a bath, half an hour ago. The stuff is caking her skin, and aside from being disgusting, it has the audacity to just sit there, not doing anything magical or special but taunting her with thoughts of the same. And she doesn't particularly want to be thinking that way. It's someone's blood. Someone almost died out there. She shouldn't be having daydreams of it transforming her, lest she end up like one of the crazier stereotypes of her kind, summoning demons to bathe in their blood, or something weird like that. She doesn't actually think that sort of thing ever happened, but she hardly wants to be the one to test the theory by wandering too far along that path.
So she plans to wash it away with all haste, and hopefully her idle musings along with it.
Not everyone might recognise it as blood, if they've never seen an angel bleed before. Between the soft sheen and the whiteness, it kind of looks like she was sideswiped by a painted-up LARPer playing a unicorn. Or Edward Cullen.
Iris Fortner is in the Kashtta, headed for her shared bathroom and looking pretty distracted. And filthy. Specifically, her shirt, her hands, and parts of her face are splashed, smeared, striped or dotted with angel blood. She's not really paying much attention to her surroundings, so it's possible she'll walk right into you, which you really don't want unless you have some sort of survival-horror-slash-angel fetish.
She wants a bath, half an hour ago. The stuff is caking her skin, and aside from being disgusting, it has the audacity to just sit there, not doing anything magical or special but taunting her with thoughts of the same. And she doesn't particularly want to be thinking that way. It's someone's blood. Someone almost died out there. She shouldn't be having daydreams of it transforming her, lest she end up like one of the crazier stereotypes of her kind, summoning demons to bathe in their blood, or something weird like that. She doesn't actually think that sort of thing ever happened, but she hardly wants to be the one to test the theory by wandering too far along that path.
So she plans to wash it away with all haste, and hopefully her idle musings along with it.
Not everyone might recognise it as blood, if they've never seen an angel bleed before. Between the soft sheen and the whiteness, it kind of looks like she was sideswiped by a painted-up LARPer playing a unicorn. Or Edward Cullen.