[Serph also had a pretty rough time of it. With the worst of his wounds taken care of in the sick bay -- stitches holding closed the gouges on his left arm, minor cuts semi-healed from devouring -- Serph staggers his way to the washrooms.
It's a testament to how bad his night has been that his step is unsteady as he walks to the washrooms. He's not prone to showing hurt, but even looking at him makes it rather obvious why he's having difficulty; gone is the jacket and body armour that usually covers his torso, revealing rivulets of dried blood caking his back where six wings have burst forth, their feathers bloody. The wings unfortunately mean he's taking up a lot of space in the Convoy on the way. A symbol and text is burned into the exposed skin of his right arm.
He lifts his head to look at the sound of another person, blood dried on his face from when he had torn skin off his forehead where his third eye -- hidden by his hair -- had appeared.]
Akechi. [His gaze isn't as focused as it was last time they spoke.] You're alright.
Aftermath, on the way to the showers. cw: blood and injuries
It's a testament to how bad his night has been that his step is unsteady as he walks to the washrooms. He's not prone to showing hurt, but even looking at him makes it rather obvious why he's having difficulty; gone is the jacket and body armour that usually covers his torso, revealing rivulets of dried blood caking his back where six wings have burst forth, their feathers bloody. The wings unfortunately mean he's taking up a lot of space in the Convoy on the way. A symbol and text is burned into the exposed skin of his right arm.
He lifts his head to look at the sound of another person, blood dried on his face from when he had torn skin off his forehead where his third eye -- hidden by his hair -- had appeared.]
Akechi. [His gaze isn't as focused as it was last time they spoke.] You're alright.
[In a manner of speaking.]