Warren Worthington III (
wwiii) wrote in
fandomhighdorms2010-05-22 12:43 pm
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Entry tags:
The Roof, Saturday Morning
Everybody had their grumpy days. Or their uncomfortable days, or their just plain wrong-side-of-the-bed days. And for any reason under the sun, really. It all depended on what was up.
What was up for Warren was spring, headed into summer. Which meant fewer layers or even just the option of lounging around shirtless, a heightened likelihood of seeing pretty girls wearing less than they were a few months ago, and, less pleasantly, a molt.
Large feathered wings were amazing, breathtaking, and absolutely liberating right up until you realized that having a pair of them meant that you'd have to deal with itching, feather dust, and pinfeathers on a seasonal basis. And so Warren had made his way up to the roof in an effort to at least minimize some of the mess in his room to spare Hinata the headache, and was now sitting on the edge, frowning at a molted four-foot long primary feather and trying to figure out what the heck to do with it as he turned it over in his hand.
This sort of thing was so much easier to deal with when his dad could just smuggle it all out through his company as 'medical waste.'
[I don't know. All I know is that I've been vacuuming up cockatiel dust for weeks now, and finally he's starting to drop real feathers so it's time to torment Warren thus. But the roof is open!]
What was up for Warren was spring, headed into summer. Which meant fewer layers or even just the option of lounging around shirtless, a heightened likelihood of seeing pretty girls wearing less than they were a few months ago, and, less pleasantly, a molt.
Large feathered wings were amazing, breathtaking, and absolutely liberating right up until you realized that having a pair of them meant that you'd have to deal with itching, feather dust, and pinfeathers on a seasonal basis. And so Warren had made his way up to the roof in an effort to at least minimize some of the mess in his room to spare Hinata the headache, and was now sitting on the edge, frowning at a molted four-foot long primary feather and trying to figure out what the heck to do with it as he turned it over in his hand.
This sort of thing was so much easier to deal with when his dad could just smuggle it all out through his company as 'medical waste.'
[I don't know. All I know is that I've been vacuuming up cockatiel dust for weeks now, and finally he's starting to drop real feathers so it's time to torment Warren thus. But the roof is open!]
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He'd looked a little leery at the prospect. Fortunately, Karla was far too amused by that reaction to be bothered by it.
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Not her culture, that was for damn sure. Morton would have a heart attack and die if she started trying to implement 'upfront affection.'
"I like it because it's versatile. And because I'm difficult."
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And she never would, either. Her smile faltered for a moment, before she shook her head and asked, "Though do babies really look like anyone when they're born? They're usually all red and wet and squishy."
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Bod winced and shook his head.
"That made more sense in my head. Healer? Akin to a physician?"
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Her contraceptive brews weren't in high demand, but Karla was planning to start selling those at Dite's shop anyway.
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She paused, calling in a small jar, holding it out to Bod. "I was bored a few weeks ago and decided to mess around with herbs for awhile. Want one?"