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

[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.

[angelo_wings]

And now Rinoa was wondering if it was a function of form, or of time. If she left her wings out for weeks, or even months, would they molt like this? Or would the magic sort that out, too?

She grasped one feather before it flew out of her reach, closing her hand over it. She considered it, tracing the edges with her fingertip.

"Do you keep them?" she asked. "I don't ... have many excess. I'd have to pull them out. But if this is a regular cycle, you probably have far too many for them to be anything precious."

[wwiii]

"I have a few of my less battered primaries in my room," Warren admitted. "The bigger ones. The flight feathers. But I didn't really have any reason to keep them before. Dad usually just had them disposed of as medical waste. Out of sight, out of mind, and all. It wasn't like I did anything with them but cram them under a coat, anyhow."

Heck, the thought of keeping them now was still weird. His wings weren't something to be ashamed of any more, but that didn't make it any less... not quite taboo, but there was still that slight sense of unnatural about it all.

"I'm only keeping the bigger ones because I do damage them so often these days, Karla said she might be able to try to imp the old ones onto the broken ones, if and when I take another beating."

[angelo_wings]

"I guess it's like keeping mementos of the place where you live," she mused. "You don't need to keep the feathers, not when you have the wings right there on your back. They aren't going anywhere."

Maybe it was weird, to be holding on to this feather of his; maybe it was kind of personal to him. She released it from her grasp and blew, letting the air current sweep it off her hand to join the others.

"I can't imagine how you sleep," she admitted. "And I hate the thought of sh-- molting, so I ..."

She shook her head. "I know I have it better, of the two of us. I know it. But days like today, with the sky looking like it goes on forever? I come up here, and you have your wings out, and I think, ... you're so lucky, you can just go."

[wwiii]

"I sleep face-down," Warren replied, pretty sure that wasn't quite what she was getting at, but he figured he'd share all the same. "And... why can't you just go? You have wings too, why should you stand here and stare at the sky with your feet on the ground when it's right there?"

[angelo_wings]

Rinoa flushed, watching the pile of feathers play idly in the wind.

"I'm not ... as ... in control of mine," she said. "I'm not really me. When it happens. I don't ... I'm getting better, I guess. But if I let enough out to let my wings out, I might ... I might let too much out. And once it's out, it doesn't ... go back in."

Too dangerous to risk it. Not for something frivolous like a gorgeous sky.

[wwiii]

"But you're getting better," Warren noted, pursing his lips a bit in thought. "So... that means that you could be you. I mean, except that you're too scared to practise with it long enough to really be able to keep a handle on yourself?"

That was just a neutral observation. No judging. After all, he'd spent ten years keeping his wings in. It wasn't quite the same, but it meant that he really didn't have room to point fingers at anyone for being scared.

[angelo_wings]

Rinoa was nodding, fingers clenching her rings tightly.

"It doesn't seem worth it," she said. "It's ... I'd like to fly, but it's not essential. But letting my powers out ... I'm better at it, and I'm working on it, but I could still slip up. Karla was there, to see Adel. Other Sorceresses have started wars."

She now had a tiny but permanent psychic presence, in Squall's head. As dangerous, as horrifying as that thought was, it was still preferable to the alternative: that she not be able to find him when she started to lose control.

She lifted a shoulder. "And ... like you said. I don't really get to practice. I could get carried away and not even notice."

[wwiii]

Warren bit his lip, and then ruffled his feathers a bit, giving his wings a stretch and pulling himself to his feet.

"Other mutants have started wars, too," he noted. "That doesn't make all of us evil, though everyone has the capacity to be and some of us have more power to do it with than others. But it doesn't mean that just because we can do terrible things with power that most people don't have, we necessarily will."

He looked out at the afternoon sky, and then offered Rinoa a smile over his shoulder.

"I could take you up there, if you don't want to do it yourself. I can't promise it'd be the smoothest flight ever, since I'm down a few important feathers right now, but..."

[angelo_wings]

"But I'm not," Rinoa supplied, easily. "So I could ... I could use mine unless ... unless that starts going badly, and then if it did, you could get us back to the ground, right?"

Flying. Flying. It sounded like a dream.

"I'm trying not to do bad things," she said, just in case he wanted reassurances on that point. "I did accidentally start the Lunar Cry but I was possessed at the time. I wouldn't have otherwise, I swear."

[wwiii]

"I think you get an automatic pass for being possessed," Warren offered. "I've been, before. At least twice. I know it's not any fun. And that it isn't really you doing those things when you are."

He nodded out toward the sky.

"The wind is great for flying today. It's getting warm, so... thermals. You could just spread your wings and drift, if you found one of those. It's awesome."

[angelo_wings]

"You feel like you're never going to be clean again," she said, shivering. "Did you ... do anything bad, while you were possessed?"

Because she felt guilty. Like, she knew that whatever she did wasn't her fault. She knew that. But she still felt it, anyway. if she had fought harder, or done something smarter, or ... she didn't know. Because people were dead and it had been her hands.

She closed her eyes, preparing to let the tight leash slip, but remembered something important. "If I start getting weird," she said, "like ... scary? Just run for it, okay? Go get Squall. Don't ... bother trying to argue with me, or get yourself hurt or anything."

She didn't think that might happen, but it was better to be absolutely sure he was going to be safe, first.

[wwiii]

Warren went very quiet at that question.

"I helped to beat somebody to death with my wings," he replied, softly. "She got better."

That hadn't made it any less worse, really, but she had recovered. Which had led to the second time he'd been possessed. Which had ended poorly, but not necessarily as a result of the possession, and all.

"But if I'm worried at all, you have my word that I'll get Squall. I'm pretty sure I have his number on my phone, so I could let him know right away."

[angelo_wings]

Rinoa shuddered.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It doesn't really make it go away, does it? You can tell yourself ... you say it wasn't you, but you still see it. All of it."

And here she was, risking more. But she had to try sooner or later. She couldn't live, just boxing her wings up and hoping they never came out. She was starting to see that.

And it was a beautiful spring day, and if her wings failed her, then his could carry the weight. And that meant she could try to rein herself in at the first sign of trouble.

She closed her eyes, one hand on her rings, and focused. She didn't want to let all of it out. Just enough.

It was easier if she visualized it. Tendrils here and there, curling around, seeping out from under her control. Gathering momentum. Curls of smoke, turning to petals; petals, turning to pure-white feathers.

It was always a shock when the buds pushed through her skin, when the suggestion of wings started to become a reality; the struts and ridges folding into place, first, and feathers unfurling to fit the structure. All happening in a fluid dance she couldn't orchestrate if she tried.

The force of it lifted her a few inches from the ground, hovering as she beat her wings once, then again to settle her on the ground again.

"The sky ... looks beautiful," she said, her voice oddly full. She was ... herself, though a little more than that. She was always a little more so when she let the power out. It was nothing to worry about, not yet. She hoped he would understand.

[wwiii]

Warren smiled faintly, looking over her wings with a sort of silent approval. They really were quite a sight to take in, when they weren't attached to himself.

"It is," he agreed softly. "It's very inviting today. Perfect for soaring."

Even him and his raggy molting messes had managed to keep some lift with less effort than he'd anticipated, today. It was the perfect day for a flying lesson.