They always seemed to start the same way. Nightmares, filled with ash, heat, the smell of burning skin-- his flesh, scorched by the flames of the fallen aircraft. He always woke in the same manner, too, rising straight up from the mattress that'd been tossed onto the floor, blankets wrapped haphazardly around him and sweat beading on his forehead.
Warren reaches a hand to thread through the mussed curls of his downhawk, chest heaving with the effort it takes for him to catch his breath. It's been like this for weeks now, ever since he had awoken in the wreckage with no memories of how he'd gotten there. The original shock was more than enough to concern him, but discovering the techno-organic wings at his back proved to be far more surprising. The last thing he remembered was an old, run-down building, chugging away at a too cheap bottle of vodka, brooding over the loss he'd suffered at the club.
His pretty white feathers ...
Sparing a glance over his shoulder, the winged warrior pushes his hair aside and scowls at the shredded pillow behind him, eyes narrowing at the metal appendages that chime softly in response. "One of these days," he mutters, as threateningly as he can about something attached to himself.
How ironic that a fallen Angel would find sanctuary in the loft of an enormous church, surrounded by a few things that he found comforting (select items he'd brought from Germany, the peculiar smell of frankincense and myrrh, the multicolored fractals of light from the stained glass), but couldn't seem to remember anything after that final cage fight. Finding Caliban hadn't been hard at all. No, the difficult part was getting him to talk with very little money, yet somehow, he managed to squeeze one thing out of him: Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.
It wasn't far from here-- only a good twenty minutes of flight and he'd gone to see the place, only to turn around and come back to the church. There was nothing there, so why had he gone at all? He continues to ponder this while he readies himself for the day, even though it's been almost a week. Wings tucked in, he examines himself, features creased with disappointment.
People will talk; the strange looks he gets when walking down the street are undeniable, but he's a mutant and they've all dealt with those sorts of things one way or another. Today will just be another day, another chance for him to (hopefully) figure out what happened and who left him for dead beneath the rubble of a plane crash. He certainly won't find out staying cooped up in the cathedral all day.
There were... regrets. Many, many regrets following the alliance with En Sabah Nur. The first, perhaps the strongest, is falling for his words. Young, impressionable, desperate for a god to save her from the life of a street rat, Ororo clung to such power and embraced the amplification of her own. A storm goddess. She was strong. She is strong.
But she caused harm to many due to that strength and negligence. She participated in things she is not proud of--not when so many innocents were injured in the process. Erik, he is alright. He returned with her. Betsy and Warren? She does not know of their fates.
No, that is a lie. She'd witnessed Warren's crash, had she not? It would be impossible for one to survive such an impact. Even now, to this day, her heart grows heavy at the loss. He'd been angry. So very clearly angry after the way the world treated him, tossing him aside as she nearly did as well, upon witnessing the state of his wings. And Betsy, the woman who became like a sister to her... Ororo does not know what became of her. He she too succumbed to the jet crashing?
The drawback with speculations and regret is that one becomes consumed by such thoughts. It's akin to a yawning chasm of darkness, with guilt overflowing over the very edges of the cliffside, pooling around her feet. The professor eases this burden for her as she acclimates to American culture. Jean becomes a best friend in a time where she believed herself to be friendless.
It is Jean who informs her of a presence. Familiar, she'd said yesterday evening. Familiar, yet... distant. Unknown. The explanation sounded both recognizable and incomprehensible, and as she mulled over this information shared, the decision to investigate was decided. As Ororo succumbed to sleep, she swore she heard the flapping of wings.
With Jean's help, it takes very little time for her to find the whereabouts of who she suspects may very well be Warren. Or, perhaps, someone imitating him? It is difficult to tell, having witnessed his probable demise. En Sabah Nur did not gift the man with enhanced healing. This much, she knows.
In a loose top--white, like her hair--leggings, strappy sandals, and many bangles, Ororo approaches the cathedral. The gravel crunches beneath her feet, and the softest of breezes caresses her cheeks, fluffing her mohawk. There is a playfulness to the air. A whisper of a greeting which prompts her to close her eyes and enjoy the brief interaction.
As she finally pushes the cathedral door open, there is a smile lingering on her lips. The look of peace in her gaze.
Clad in his own form of comfort (leather-- lots of it), Warren descends the stairs from the loft and begins heading toward the double-doors, confidence in his stride. He reaches for the door and as he does, the feathers at his back chime nervously, like they're trying to warn him of danger, which comes in the form of Ororo quite literally breezing her way into the church.
His eyebrows raise with surprise, mouth falling open in an intelligible stutter. He backpedals as much as he can manage so they don't run into one another and lifts an arm in an almost defensive manner. "Woah," is what he responds with at first, brow furrowing, hazel eyes narrowed. "Watch where you're--" he pauses, regarding the woman in front of him with familiarity before wincing his eyes shut and shaking his head at the pain overtaking him.
The all too familiar scent of fire decides to flood his senses at this particular moment.
While he internally struggles for a brief moment, Ororo should have no trouble seeing that it's definitely Warren though, wearing all black with messy blond curls cascading into his eyes from the lack of styling his downhawk. There are no markings on his face, proving the loss of En Sabah Nur's hold over him, but once he's gathered himself, the look in his eyes isn't exactly a friendly one.
And the earlier recognition is gone just as quick as it'd came.
He straightens, casually tucks both hands into his coat pockets and folds his wings a little tighter against his back. "Sorry, uh—" Is apologizing necessary? He's not sure. "Should be watching where I'm going, too."
the world is your's, you need only grab it; @pinkyswearing
[It's been almost an hour since he messaged Kai, pushed to the point that he hadn't even been able to type correctly.]
i have to talk to you [the text had started.] really important just meet me here
[Promptly followed by an address to what looked like a rundown old building. On the outside, anyway. He waits inside the spread of a rickety doorframe, wings awkwardly tucked beneath his coat, head dipped in his best attempt to hide his eyes. They're dead. There's no fucking way—
With his left boot, Warren steps down on a white feather that floats gently to the ground, drags the foot back behind himself to dispose of it. He can hear the gentle lull of a voice, promising him that if he just lets go, things will be better. Ringing underneath the fabric of his jacket draws his attention and with a heavy breath, he straightens, wills away anything clouding his mind so he can listen for footsteps.]
The hell's taking so long? [he queries.] Don't think this guy's gonna be quiet much longer ...
[ Kai hadn't repliedto the text but he was relativey prompt in showing up to the address that Warren had sent him. They hadn't really done or spoken of anything seriously yet but Kai could feel that something had happened, something was brewing and the base animalistic andrenaline was surging through his veins.
He's not sure yet, what exactly Warren is, who he is but he knows that he can be useful. Kai has an innate sense about those things. This is no different. And so, he arrives and just in time to hear the other query the emptiness.
[The sound of a voice that's not his own makes Warren jerk around. He can feel the spread of his other half, which makes him draw a hand up, cup it over the left side of his face.]
... so it would seem. [He levels Kai with the uncovered eye, brilliant gold bleeding through the hazel iris. More feathers have fallen around him, too many to pluck up or kick away before they're noticeable; he isn't entirely in control anymore, so the part that is beginning to come forward doesn't give a damn. Death is predatory in his own manner, in the way his lips deviously curve, shoulders rolling back, and his spine becoming ramrod straight.
For now, he simply tips his head and continues leering at the other man, parting his fingers so he can watch behind the hand, too.]
Not sure how he thinks you'll help, but. [Smirk.] Guess we're about to find out.
[ Kai studies Warren, interested in the change that seems to be struggling over him. It's interesting, very interesting and potentially very, very useful. What is it that this guy is exactly? A mutant, obviously, of some sorts but Kai's plan has more than enough room for those if they provide the right skills, the right mindset to his organization. ]
I wasn't told exactly what is going on here. But I'm quite useful in a number of ways.
Who I am doesn't matter. Warren is a boy who's trying hard to turn over a new leaf. [A pause, his teeth baring more, wolfish as ever.] I'm the one that makes sure things get done. With your help, the almost murder he witnessed can be avenged.
[Archangel's eyes glitter gold with intent, malice blatant on his features. The hardass blond boy from before is no more right now; there is only Death-- a psyche that is ready and more than willing to rip humans limb from limb when it comes to mutant lives.] Let me ask you something, [he begins, slowly stripping out of the coat he's been using to hide certain things.] You're a human, yes?
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houseofsushi2017-03-26 08:23 pm
old friends, new enemies; @thunderlicious
Warren reaches a hand to thread through the mussed curls of his downhawk, chest heaving with the effort it takes for him to catch his breath. It's been like this for weeks now, ever since he had awoken in the wreckage with no memories of how he'd gotten there. The original shock was more than enough to concern him, but discovering the techno-organic wings at his back proved to be far more surprising. The last thing he remembered was an old, run-down building, chugging away at a too cheap bottle of vodka, brooding over the loss he'd suffered at the club.
His pretty white feathers ...
Sparing a glance over his shoulder, the winged warrior pushes his hair aside and scowls at the shredded pillow behind him, eyes narrowing at the metal appendages that chime softly in response. "One of these days," he mutters, as threateningly as he can about something attached to himself.
How ironic that a fallen Angel would find sanctuary in the loft of an enormous church, surrounded by a few things that he found comforting (select items he'd brought from Germany, the peculiar smell of frankincense and myrrh, the multicolored fractals of light from the stained glass), but couldn't seem to remember anything after that final cage fight. Finding Caliban hadn't been hard at all. No, the difficult part was getting him to talk with very little money, yet somehow, he managed to squeeze one thing out of him: Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.
It wasn't far from here-- only a good twenty minutes of flight and he'd gone to see the place, only to turn around and come back to the church. There was nothing there, so why had he gone at all? He continues to ponder this while he readies himself for the day, even though it's been almost a week. Wings tucked in, he examines himself, features creased with disappointment.
People will talk; the strange looks he gets when walking down the street are undeniable, but he's a mutant and they've all dealt with those sorts of things one way or another. Today will just be another day, another chance for him to (hopefully) figure out what happened and who left him for dead beneath the rubble of a plane crash. He certainly won't find out staying cooped up in the cathedral all day.
no subject
But she caused harm to many due to that strength and negligence. She participated in things she is not proud of--not when so many innocents were injured in the process. Erik, he is alright. He returned with her. Betsy and Warren? She does not know of their fates.
No, that is a lie. She'd witnessed Warren's crash, had she not? It would be impossible for one to survive such an impact. Even now, to this day, her heart grows heavy at the loss. He'd been angry. So very clearly angry after the way the world treated him, tossing him aside as she nearly did as well, upon witnessing the state of his wings. And Betsy, the woman who became like a sister to her... Ororo does not know what became of her. He she too succumbed to the jet crashing?
The drawback with speculations and regret is that one becomes consumed by such thoughts. It's akin to a yawning chasm of darkness, with guilt overflowing over the very edges of the cliffside, pooling around her feet. The professor eases this burden for her as she acclimates to American culture. Jean becomes a best friend in a time where she believed herself to be friendless.
It is Jean who informs her of a presence. Familiar, she'd said yesterday evening. Familiar, yet... distant. Unknown. The explanation sounded both recognizable and incomprehensible, and as she mulled over this information shared, the decision to investigate was decided. As Ororo succumbed to sleep, she swore she heard the flapping of wings.
With Jean's help, it takes very little time for her to find the whereabouts of who she suspects may very well be Warren. Or, perhaps, someone imitating him? It is difficult to tell, having witnessed his probable demise. En Sabah Nur did not gift the man with enhanced healing. This much, she knows.
In a loose top--white, like her hair--leggings, strappy sandals, and many bangles, Ororo approaches the cathedral. The gravel crunches beneath her feet, and the softest of breezes caresses her cheeks, fluffing her mohawk. There is a playfulness to the air. A whisper of a greeting which prompts her to close her eyes and enjoy the brief interaction.
As she finally pushes the cathedral door open, there is a smile lingering on her lips. The look of peace in her gaze.
no subject
His eyebrows raise with surprise, mouth falling open in an intelligible stutter. He backpedals as much as he can manage so they don't run into one another and lifts an arm in an almost defensive manner. "Woah," is what he responds with at first, brow furrowing, hazel eyes narrowed. "Watch where you're--" he pauses, regarding the woman in front of him with familiarity before wincing his eyes shut and shaking his head at the pain overtaking him.
The all too familiar scent of fire decides to flood his senses at this particular moment.
While he internally struggles for a brief moment, Ororo should have no trouble seeing that it's definitely Warren though, wearing all black with messy blond curls cascading into his eyes from the lack of styling his downhawk. There are no markings on his face, proving the loss of En Sabah Nur's hold over him, but once he's gathered himself, the look in his eyes isn't exactly a friendly one.
And the earlier recognition is gone just as quick as it'd came.
He straightens, casually tucks both hands into his coat pockets and folds his wings a little tighter against his back. "Sorry, uh—" Is apologizing necessary? He's not sure. "Should be watching where I'm going, too."
the world is your's, you need only grab it; @pinkyswearing
i have to talk to you [the text had started.]
really important
just meet me here
[Promptly followed by an address to what looked like a rundown old building. On the outside, anyway. He waits inside the spread of a rickety doorframe, wings awkwardly tucked beneath his coat, head dipped in his best attempt to hide his eyes. They're dead. There's no fucking way—
With his left boot, Warren steps down on a white feather that floats gently to the ground, drags the foot back behind himself to dispose of it. He can hear the gentle lull of a voice, promising him that if he just lets go, things will be better. Ringing underneath the fabric of his jacket draws his attention and with a heavy breath, he straightens, wills away anything clouding his mind so he can listen for footsteps.]
The hell's taking so long? [he queries.] Don't think this guy's gonna be quiet much longer ...
no subject
He's not sure yet, what exactly Warren is, who he is but he knows that he can be useful. Kai has an innate sense about those things. This is no different. And so, he arrives and just in time to hear the other query the emptiness.
Perfect. ]
Then I've arrived just on time, haven't I?
no subject
... so it would seem. [He levels Kai with the uncovered eye, brilliant gold bleeding through the hazel iris. More feathers have fallen around him, too many to pluck up or kick away before they're noticeable; he isn't entirely in control anymore, so the part that is beginning to come forward doesn't give a damn. Death is predatory in his own manner, in the way his lips deviously curve, shoulders rolling back, and his spine becoming ramrod straight.
For now, he simply tips his head and continues leering at the other man, parting his fingers so he can watch behind the hand, too.]
Not sure how he thinks you'll help, but. [Smirk.] Guess we're about to find out.
no subject
I wasn't told exactly what is going on here. But I'm quite useful in a number of ways.
no subject
[Archangel's eyes glitter gold with intent, malice blatant on his features. The hardass blond boy from before is no more right now; there is only Death-- a psyche that is ready and more than willing to rip humans limb from limb when it comes to mutant lives.] Let me ask you something, [he begins, slowly stripping out of the coat he's been using to hide certain things.] You're a human, yes?