The Roof of the Dorms, Saturday Afternoon

[wwiii]

Finally, that whole mess with the school board had been sorted out, and Warren was free to wander around wherever he wanted without worrying about who was getting an eyeful of wing. Okay, sure, so it meant that the last week of his high school career had been a bit of a wash, since having to run around with an image inducer turned on all the time had been something of a mood killer, but now he had a little bit of time before grad in order to just appreciate his last little bit of time here on the island.

Naturally, this was the week that spring caught up with him and he started molting.

This afternoon, Warren could be found sitting shirtless on the roof and fidgeting, the occasional feather drifting down to settle beside him.

"I hate everything."

No, he didn't really. But regrowing feathers was agonizingly itchy business.

[Open roof is open!]

Comments

[hoorayimrich.livejournal.com]

"Molting??" Why had Tony decided to take out the suit today? Oh right. Paintball.

At least he was getting better at aerial maneuvers?

[wwiii]

"Molting," Warren replied, turning a grumpy little glance down toward the small collection of large feathers that were starting to gather around him. "I have a four-foot primary feather back in my room that I could probably knock somebody out with if I felt like it."

And that was going to suck to grow back in.

[hoorayimrich.livejournal.com]

"So... I'm guessing flying is out of the question," he replied, circling around for a moment before landing on the roof with a dull thud of metal boots on cement.

[wwiii]

"Not out of the question, really," Warren sighed. "Just... impractical. I'll have to work a lot harder to get any lift, and there won't be anything like gliding happening if I want to keep it."

But it seemed so tempting. Warren wasn't afraid of a little exercise...

[hoorayimrich.livejournal.com]

"Couldn't hurt to try..." Yes it could, Tony. Don't be dumb.

[wwiii]

Warren leaned forward, looking off the edge of the roof. It wasn't that far down, really...

"It's not nice to tempt a guy with wings to fly when he's been grounded all week, you know."

It was a light accusation, though. He was already pulling himself to his feet and fanning his wings out, getting a feel for the way the wind was blowing.

[hoorayimrich.livejournal.com]

"Am I tempting? I would never tempt people!"

Lies. So many lies.

[wwiii]

"Right, I keep forgetting. Yours is the face of innocence personified," Warren replied, smirking. "If I fall and you have to catch me, I reserve the right to smack you when you're out of that tin can for any of those inevitable damsel in distress jokes."

[hoorayimrich.livejournal.com]

"I'd never make that joke!" A beat. "Ben, when I show him the footage later, on the other hand..."

[angelo_wings]

Rinoa was happy to be out of those ugly, itchy costumes. She was really tempted to change into something super-fancy, like a big flowy dress or even a miniskirt. But she just ended up putting on her favorite blue duster. Maybe that was boring, but she happened to like it.

She made her way up to the roof and took a deep breath, relishing the rush of fresh air. Wind was awesome. It had been her favorite element to junction before the team had enough Holy.

[wwiii]

And it was sort of like Warren's favorite element by default. Genetics made him pretty inclined to like that one, naturally.

He turned and offered Rinoa a little smile. Even if it was a kind of squirmy sort of gesture, all in all.

"Hey, Rinoa. Looking for some fresh air?"

[angelo_wings]

Maybe it had to do with wings. Which didn't quite make sense, in her case, since junctioning Wind had come long before she'd gotten the Sorceress powers. So had the wings drawn on the back of her duster. Maybe potential Sorceresses were drawn to elements they had affinities to. Or maybe it was the sort of coincidence that led Edea to believe in fate.

"Just feeling cooped up," she said, drawing in another breath. "I'm surprised you're still sitting here."

The whole sky was out there. Surely he was just taking a break.

[wwiii]

"I've already been for one flight today," Warren replied, shrugging a little. "But I'm kind of pacing myself. The going is always a little more slow for a couple of weeks in the springtime."

The little heap of feathers nearby probably attested to that one. This was one of those weird avian bodily functions that he totally could have gone without. So, thanks for that, X-gene.

"It was pretty rough not just taking off and soaring all week, though. But this is sort of what college is going to be like too, so... I guess it helped me get into the practise of it again, if nothing else."

[angelo_wings]

Rinoa came closer, hesitantly. She didn't want to intrude, on something so personal, but this part of having wings was alien to her. Hers were temporary, transient; hers were a force of her psyche and her magic. Hers didn't ... leave ... piles of feathers on the ground.

"You're ... shedding?" she asked, hoping that genuine curiosity would keep the question from being offensive.

Some part of her wanted to collect the feathers. Keep them. For Pluma, should they ever meet again.

[wwiii]

"Molting," Warren corrected, not quite able to keep a sort of wry look off of his face. "Dogs shed, birds molt."

And winged mutants.

"But yeah. Out with the old, in with the new, sort of? Some of my feathers got pretty banged up a few months back, so... as annoying as this is..."

He was rambling. Great.

"You... don't, huh? I mean, I guess you wouldn't, since..." He waved a hand, because that was going to say so much more than his mouth could, sure. "But, I mean, yeah. This is something that happens when you can't just put them away or something."

And it sucked.

[angelo_wings]

"Sorry," Rinoa said, feeling a quick stab of guilt. "I think mine aren't ... there when they aren't out? Maybe they re-create each time, so they don't need to ... prune themselves."

It didn't look pleasant.

"There isn't anything you can do?" she asked. "... Like ... brush them, or, ... I don't know."

Rinoa had a pet dog. She knew almost nothing about wings. Especially since hers came out when she ... wasn't really herself.

[wwiii]

"I could spend a few hours going through by hand, feather by feather, to get rid of the ones that are just going to fall out anyhow, but it's a little less unpleasant to just wait for them to come out on their own," he explained. "Pulling feathers hurts."

There was a little shrug, and then he swept the feathers off to the side with one wing, the draft he created in the process carrying a few of them over the edge of the roof.

"The worst part is really all the itching and the dust after, when new feathers start to grow in to replace the other ones."

This was way less weird to talk about to someone who had wings too, he was finding. Even if hers were kind of come-and-go.

[chief-cheerio.livejournal.com]

Quinn sniffled as she plopped herself down next to Warren on the roof.

"Why did I get a cold today?" she bitched. "I should be out, getting my paintball on, but nooooooo. All I want is sleep and chicken soup."

And, apparently, a trip to the roof to complain at whoever was handy.

[wwiii]

Warren gave Quinn a little glance, and a crooked little smile to go with it.

"Chicken soup could probably be arranged for," he offered. "Me, I could do with, like, a garden rake or something to scratch my back with."

He had a lot of back to scratch, so sue him.

[chief-cheerio.livejournal.com]

Quinn glanced over with a crooked smile of her own. "I could help you scratch if your girlfriend wouldn't get pissy about it."

She knew Karla enough to know Karla was scary.

"... and if you don't mind my" -- sniffle -- "germs."

[wwiii]

"I don't mind germs," Warren assured her. "I haven't had a cold in years. But Karla probably would take exception to me letting somebody else get their hands in my wings. And besides, they're dusty. That can't possibly be good for your cold."

Featherdust was bad enough when it was a little bird doing the molting. Warren... spent a lot of time outside in the spring for a reason.

[chief-cheerio.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, if I had a boyfriend with wings I wouldn't want some random hot girl" -- oh, hi, Quinn's ego was healthy even if the rest of her wasn't -- "putting her hands all over them," Quinn decided. "Anyhow, you're probably right about the dust factor. Still, sorry you're all ... itchy."

She scrunched her nose. "I can deal with this as long as I'm better by graduation."

[wwiii]

Warren scrunched his nose a little, too. Being sick for graduation didn't sound like a memorable sort of experience. Or maybe it did, just... in an unpleasant way.

"I was serious about the soup, you know. I could call Fina and have them make some. They don't actually have any problem delivering when I call them."

Possibly because he tipped. Obscenely.

[chief-cheerio.livejournal.com]

"Yeah?" Quinn asked. "Could they bring some of those little rolls, too? I haven't been there in forever."

Campbells' would have been fine, but if restaurant soup was being offered, she would take advantage of it.

[wwiii]

Warren had never eaten soup from a can in his life. Odds were, if it wasn't for modern art, he probably wouldn't really be aware that such a thing even existed.

"I don't see why not," he mused, pulling out his phone. "I mean, if they're coming here anyhow, it'd just be one more thing to carry. And it would be something a little more substantial than soup to eat."