(no subject)
Characters: Angeal Hewley & Sephiroth
Progress: Incomplete
Summary: Angeal's still getting used to his wing and Sephiroth's just finding out.
Location: Wutai
Date: May 1804 (a good few hours after this)
Warnings: none/TBA
He was told he needed rest. He didn’t argue that fact. Lying in bed, his face at the foot of the bed and wings splayed, laying into the rest of the room, Angeal tried to ignore the pain with sleep. No potion would take that away. Only the wound from the initial break. But sleeping would prove to be a difficult task as every time his mind went to drift off, muscles would involuntarily twitch and wake him up on edge. He sighed for the umpteenth time that day, rolling his shoulder with a grunt and settling into the sheets and pillow again.
The wings weren’t horribly stained like they were. His shower washed out most of the blood. But because they were so white, the light stains stuck out more than he realized. Eyeing them lazily, lightly lifting them and making them flutter, he couldn’t help but to think they were magnificent. His control over them was still bad, nothing like Sephiroth and Genesis’.
Their wings were beautiful too. He didn’t know why they could think themselves monsters. Maybe because he was pulled from his original fate. He rested the wings on the floor again with a stifled grunt. The tired man sighed, pushing his face into the pillow and trying to sleep again.
Progress: Incomplete
Summary: Angeal's still getting used to his wing and Sephiroth's just finding out.
Location: Wutai
Date: May 1804 (a good few hours after this)
Warnings: none/TBA
He was told he needed rest. He didn’t argue that fact. Lying in bed, his face at the foot of the bed and wings splayed, laying into the rest of the room, Angeal tried to ignore the pain with sleep. No potion would take that away. Only the wound from the initial break. But sleeping would prove to be a difficult task as every time his mind went to drift off, muscles would involuntarily twitch and wake him up on edge. He sighed for the umpteenth time that day, rolling his shoulder with a grunt and settling into the sheets and pillow again.
The wings weren’t horribly stained like they were. His shower washed out most of the blood. But because they were so white, the light stains stuck out more than he realized. Eyeing them lazily, lightly lifting them and making them flutter, he couldn’t help but to think they were magnificent. His control over them was still bad, nothing like Sephiroth and Genesis’.
Their wings were beautiful too. He didn’t know why they could think themselves monsters. Maybe because he was pulled from his original fate. He rested the wings on the floor again with a stifled grunt. The tired man sighed, pushing his face into the pillow and trying to sleep again.