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]

"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.