he comes in the dimming of lights, in the feeling of rushing wind and pounding footsteps. he comes in the tearing of seams and flesh, in an eruption of wings and dark. he is power, raw and primal, and if it weren't for his voice she'd have never recognized him in a million years. akira. the boy from the bar. is this what he looks like? is the first time he lets his defenses down around her anger?
get away from him, he roars, and so she does.
she doesn't waste time actively watching his actions - she has eyes for every angle, vision for every sight she could see, and it all comes to her ambiently. by the time she's leapt away, foot balancing and bracing herself upon the high bartop, his wings have blocked the blonde out from even her sight. by the time she's launched herself into the air, she sees those wings - large, wicked, a demon's on sight alone - wrapping down and around the boys.
and then she is spreading her wings, and frantically trying to fly away in a room too small for the three of them. it's a pathetic sight, like a wounded bird trying to figure out how to fly for the second time. it's his friend, the part of her still thinking manages to piece together, but not loud enough to override survival instinct. go. run. run! get out, get out, he'll hurt you, or you'll hurt him, but either way get out-
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he comes in the dimming of lights, in the feeling of rushing wind and pounding footsteps. he comes in the tearing of seams and flesh, in an eruption of wings and dark. he is power, raw and primal, and if it weren't for his voice she'd have never recognized him in a million years. akira. the boy from the bar. is this what he looks like? is the first time he lets his defenses down around her anger?
get away from him, he roars, and so she does.
she doesn't waste time actively watching his actions - she has eyes for every angle, vision for every sight she could see, and it all comes to her ambiently. by the time she's leapt away, foot balancing and bracing herself upon the high bartop, his wings have blocked the blonde out from even her sight. by the time she's launched herself into the air, she sees those wings - large, wicked, a demon's on sight alone - wrapping down and around the boys.
and then she is spreading her wings, and frantically trying to fly away in a room too small for the three of them. it's a pathetic sight, like a wounded bird trying to figure out how to fly for the second time. it's his friend, the part of her still thinking manages to piece together, but not loud enough to override survival instinct. go. run. run! get out, get out, he'll hurt you, or you'll hurt him, but either way get out-
she just has to reach the door. that's all. ]