[No, Akira wasn't really expecting for the guy's body to jerk forward like that, as if the ground beneath him was reaching forward towards them. Or — the other option, that something was emerging from his back, sprouting from his shoulderblades. Something shifts in the confines of Akira's dark eyes, something clicking into place, stirred up from (rather painful) memories of the last time he'd tangled with someone who'd had wings sort of like that.
(Though it had been quite a different situation, then...)
Akira was already beginning to lean back, his grasp on Kira's wrists loosening, thinking he should reassess and figure out a better way to approach this. And then he was hit in the face by the blast of wind; it hit him like a freight train in the chest, flinging him upwards into the air, ass over ears. As he hangs there for a moment at the zenith of his arc, right before he begins to fall, he seems to struggle oddly — his hands grasping at his chest, tugging at the zipper at the top of his jumpsuit, tugging it down just enough so that he could wriggle his shoulders free and loose his own wings in the space that he created. It's a bit awkward and cumbersome; he growls, freeing his arms from the rest of the confines of the coveralls as he flaps laboriously to maintain height.
This form is not elegant, nor is it terribly efficient. It is two contentious siblings fighting over the single controller for a video game console, torn between the knowing power of the demonic influence and the strict limitations of the human form. But he manages to keep himself aloft, the stripes running from where the wings sprouted from his back over his shoulders dark against his skin, and he looks down to where Kira was some twenty or thirty feet below him.]
Not unless you want me to stop fightin' with the kid gloves on, shithead.
[And then he's diving towards Kira, fast, his wings folded up close to him so he looks like a bullet speeding through the air. If he's still where he is on the ground when he reaches it, it's probably gonna hurt quite a bit.]
no subject
(Though it had been quite a different situation, then...)
Akira was already beginning to lean back, his grasp on Kira's wrists loosening, thinking he should reassess and figure out a better way to approach this. And then he was hit in the face by the blast of wind; it hit him like a freight train in the chest, flinging him upwards into the air, ass over ears. As he hangs there for a moment at the zenith of his arc, right before he begins to fall, he seems to struggle oddly — his hands grasping at his chest, tugging at the zipper at the top of his jumpsuit, tugging it down just enough so that he could wriggle his shoulders free and loose his own wings in the space that he created. It's a bit awkward and cumbersome; he growls, freeing his arms from the rest of the confines of the coveralls as he flaps laboriously to maintain height.
This form is not elegant, nor is it terribly efficient. It is two contentious siblings fighting over the single controller for a video game console, torn between the knowing power of the demonic influence and the strict limitations of the human form. But he manages to keep himself aloft, the stripes running from where the wings sprouted from his back over his shoulders dark against his skin, and he looks down to where Kira was some twenty or thirty feet below him.]
Not unless you want me to stop fightin' with the kid gloves on, shithead.
[And then he's diving towards Kira, fast, his wings folded up close to him so he looks like a bullet speeding through the air. If he's still where he is on the ground when he reaches it, it's probably gonna hurt quite a bit.]