The Summoner (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
uprisings) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2012-02-19 03:48 am
uprisings) wrote in towerofanimus2012-02-19 03:48 am
Entry tags:
I've come undone
Characters: Summoner and Handmaid
Setting: Floor 25
Format: Action
Summary: Summoner is a mess. Handmaid sucks at stealth
Warnings: sad aliens
[He has always been partial to the sunlight, what little of it he could get in the dusk and the dawn. There is something about the light and the gentle warmth of it that has appealed to him, especially during the seasons when the night air bit at him like it wanted to take him apart. When he was very, very young, he used to test himself, stay out and watch the sun come up until his skin burned and his lusus called him back to his recuperacoon]
[So it is probably not especially surprising that he has come to appreciate the spring sun on the twenty-fifth floor. And never has he appreciated it more then right now, the careful prickling heat making days old bruises ache in the best way. The uncomfortable and constant pulse in his torn wings slows faintly, lets him focus on other things. He moves for the sake of moving, sliding through sword forms even without a sword because muscle memory is easier then thinking about… well… anything else honestly. These past few days have been quite awful! He figures probably he can leave those particular memories alone for a little while longer. This is easier]
[At least until the ache catches up to him again, and he lets himself slow… then stop entirely, wiping sweat off his cheeks and… staring at his palm for a long moment. He’s tired. Kind of bone deep tired. Sleeping hasn’t been helping, and he should know, seeing how that’s been what he’s been doing for days now. There are other things in there, of course, besides the tiredness. Anger and frustration and curiosity. The kind of things that have made him restless finally, and drawn him to this room]
[He wants to fly, to clear his head, but he can’t. Not with his wings still healing, and not quite able to fold properly anymore. So instead he settles under a tree, and goes through the long, practiced routine of undoing the clasps and buttons that hold his shirt on. He is thankful for being alone, thankful that humans are apparently day walkers and don’t come around much at night, as he draws his shirt off finally, and folds it next to his knee. He is still marked of course, ugly brown bruises standing out along his side and his shoulder, and he touches them just briefly, just enough to make them sting, before… just… folding forward, stretching out over his crossed legs, pressing his forehead against the cool grass. His wings fan out around him, uncovering the old scars the crisscross his back, and once again he is thankful for being alone. He has never liked answering questions about them, and honestly the silence is nice, the cool air he moves around himself is nice. For a moment, he is… not happy exactly, but at least he’s letting himself relax…]
Setting: Floor 25
Format: Action
Summary: Summoner is a mess. Handmaid sucks at stealth
Warnings: sad aliens
[He has always been partial to the sunlight, what little of it he could get in the dusk and the dawn. There is something about the light and the gentle warmth of it that has appealed to him, especially during the seasons when the night air bit at him like it wanted to take him apart. When he was very, very young, he used to test himself, stay out and watch the sun come up until his skin burned and his lusus called him back to his recuperacoon]
[So it is probably not especially surprising that he has come to appreciate the spring sun on the twenty-fifth floor. And never has he appreciated it more then right now, the careful prickling heat making days old bruises ache in the best way. The uncomfortable and constant pulse in his torn wings slows faintly, lets him focus on other things. He moves for the sake of moving, sliding through sword forms even without a sword because muscle memory is easier then thinking about… well… anything else honestly. These past few days have been quite awful! He figures probably he can leave those particular memories alone for a little while longer. This is easier]
[At least until the ache catches up to him again, and he lets himself slow… then stop entirely, wiping sweat off his cheeks and… staring at his palm for a long moment. He’s tired. Kind of bone deep tired. Sleeping hasn’t been helping, and he should know, seeing how that’s been what he’s been doing for days now. There are other things in there, of course, besides the tiredness. Anger and frustration and curiosity. The kind of things that have made him restless finally, and drawn him to this room]
[He wants to fly, to clear his head, but he can’t. Not with his wings still healing, and not quite able to fold properly anymore. So instead he settles under a tree, and goes through the long, practiced routine of undoing the clasps and buttons that hold his shirt on. He is thankful for being alone, thankful that humans are apparently day walkers and don’t come around much at night, as he draws his shirt off finally, and folds it next to his knee. He is still marked of course, ugly brown bruises standing out along his side and his shoulder, and he touches them just briefly, just enough to make them sting, before… just… folding forward, stretching out over his crossed legs, pressing his forehead against the cool grass. His wings fan out around him, uncovering the old scars the crisscross his back, and once again he is thankful for being alone. He has never liked answering questions about them, and honestly the silence is nice, the cool air he moves around himself is nice. For a moment, he is… not happy exactly, but at least he’s letting himself relax…]
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[Nods and lets go of her hand, moving to stand]
I uh... don't have anything with me, to help with that. [So they're going to the infirmary!!]
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I'm sorry.
[Siiigh Handmaid.]
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It's fine. Everything is, fine.
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Okay.
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[...she probably ought to let him know he forgot his shirt WELP]
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You're forgetting something.
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Sorry...
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Why are you apologizing?
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Keeping you, from getting help... [With his eagerness. Sigh]
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[SERIOUSLY SUMMONER you are being so gross and pale rn.]
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[Little smile in gratitude]
I think maybe, I might be a better judge then you. About that.
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Why?
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That is. True. But I would uh... rather you, didn't get close to death. At all. This is, more then enough, I think.
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They are so gross.]
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[But uh... he doesn't mind taking this little walk in silence? So unless she's got something to say, this will probably be pretty quiet...]
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What are you thinking about...?
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[CRUSHING GUILT. She sits down anyway, holding out her mangled hand obediently.]
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