( apropos of nothing, the two gain a visitor on their little training session.
makoto had just been arriving to do some weapons training of his own — he has characteristically poor luck in timing, as arriving at the time that he does puts him just within range of sensing the injuries that sprung up between gen and barnaby. he feels the compulsion arise like the beginnings of a wave from the edge of his consciousness; as it approaches rapidly, gaining size and strength as it does so, he begins to grit his teeth. why now? why them?
it is possible to resist the urge that the curse gives him to go to them, but it's been a while since it's activated. it sometimes feel like the longer it rests, the more power it gains. he basically had no option but to walk up to them, his expression a picture of wrath and obvious conflict. he'd been fighting the urge to walk over here every step of the way, and it shows in a deep furrow between his brows. he speaks in a low, venomous tone: )
Couldn't you two simply avoid injuring each other.
( he doesn't even need to look at them to sense their injuries; bruises, minor contusions. he feels them tangentially, like the phantom pain relived from a memory. his head bows in anger and something vaguely akin to shame as two ghostly feathered wings sprout from his shoulderblades. they spread, and then they fold; an extremely keen eye might be able to pick out a glow which originates from makoto's back and then spreads out throughout the feathers — and, in time with that slow rhythm... healing. at a snail's pace, causing lacerations to itch as they knit and bruises to ache faintly as they mend. )
no subject
makoto had just been arriving to do some weapons training of his own — he has characteristically poor luck in timing, as arriving at the time that he does puts him just within range of sensing the injuries that sprung up between gen and barnaby. he feels the compulsion arise like the beginnings of a wave from the edge of his consciousness; as it approaches rapidly, gaining size and strength as it does so, he begins to grit his teeth. why now? why them?
it is possible to resist the urge that the curse gives him to go to them, but it's been a while since it's activated. it sometimes feel like the longer it rests, the more power it gains. he basically had no option but to walk up to them, his expression a picture of wrath and obvious conflict. he'd been fighting the urge to walk over here every step of the way, and it shows in a deep furrow between his brows. he speaks in a low, venomous tone: )
Couldn't you two simply avoid injuring each other.
( he doesn't even need to look at them to sense their injuries; bruises, minor contusions. he feels them tangentially, like the phantom pain relived from a memory. his head bows in anger and something vaguely akin to shame as two ghostly feathered wings sprout from his shoulderblades. they spread, and then they fold; an extremely keen eye might be able to pick out a glow which originates from makoto's back and then spreads out throughout the feathers — and, in time with that slow rhythm... healing. at a snail's pace, causing lacerations to itch as they knit and bruises to ache faintly as they mend. )