Recognising an end of a conversation, Serph closes his eyes and lets himself be pulled into sleep's embrace. He dreams of a blue sky and the sound of waves crashing on a beach; both things he's never seen or heard before.
Just before light breaks through, Serph wakes and silently slips away, not noticing the room's other occupant.
-----
Once the Moon Warp is over, it becomes quite clear to Serph that the bunks in the small rooms aren't sufficient for him; now sporting 6 wings that he doesn't really have good control over, the cramped quarters just seem woefully inadequate. He's not unused to fighting -- endlessly -- but the night has taken a toll on even him. By the time he's had his wounds stitched up -- his left arm still isn't fully functional -- and a long shower to clean the worst of the blood off his face and wings, exhaustion clearly dogs his unsteady gait by the time he's staggering over to one of the larger bedrooms in the Convoy. Unfortunately, salvaging any of his outerwear that would normally cover his torso was impossible, so not only is he shirtless and covered in half healed wounds, the new mark and words burned into his right arm as well as his stitched up, half mangled left arm on full display.
When he pulls open the door, he doesn't expect it to be occupied.
no subject
Recognising an end of a conversation, Serph closes his eyes and lets himself be pulled into sleep's embrace. He dreams of a blue sky and the sound of waves crashing on a beach; both things he's never seen or heard before.
Just before light breaks through, Serph wakes and silently slips away, not noticing the room's other occupant.
-----
Once the Moon Warp is over, it becomes quite clear to Serph that the bunks in the small rooms aren't sufficient for him; now sporting 6 wings that he doesn't really have good control over, the cramped quarters just seem woefully inadequate. He's not unused to fighting -- endlessly -- but the night has taken a toll on even him. By the time he's had his wounds stitched up -- his left arm still isn't fully functional -- and a long shower to clean the worst of the blood off his face and wings, exhaustion clearly dogs his unsteady gait by the time he's staggering over to one of the larger bedrooms in the Convoy. Unfortunately, salvaging any of his outerwear that would normally cover his torso was impossible, so not only is he shirtless and covered in half healed wounds, the new mark and words burned into his right arm as well as his stitched up, half mangled left arm on full display.
When he pulls open the door, he doesn't expect it to be occupied.