Warren Worthington III (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wwiii) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomhighdorms2010-05-22 12:43 pm
wwiii) wrote in fandomhighdorms2010-05-22 12:43 pm
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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Warren managed to open his eyes and peer over his shoulder at her again! This was going to be considered some serious progress at the moment. "S'comfy."
He was pretty much doomed to spend the rest of this conversation spouting out words that were as monosyllabic as humanly possible. Yes. And once his brain returned to him, he'd just die of embarrassment or something, instead.
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She did have to pause sometimes, coughing when the feather dust got to be a bit much, and setting aside some of the feathers that fell out under her ministrations. Those, she set to the side so Warren could have them as he wished.
Eventually she lapsed into silence, too. Between the sunlight and the repetitive motion of the scratching, it was easy to slip off into a bit of a daydream or two.