forum Honestly I shouldn't be allowed to open rps. (Closed) (yes another one-on-one) (stalkers welcome!)

Started September 26, 2018 by @Dirt

tune

"Sorry." Afriel mumbled as she looked down at her feet. Her wings coming around her as a small shield.

“It’s fine,” Zackary growled as his wings furled up around him too.

"Right. If you need anything just call." Afriel turned and left, quickly going down the stairs.

Zackary didn’t respond, nor did he stir himself to eat. He just shut his eyes and curled up again, going back to blocking out the world.

The rest of the day Afriel worked sluggishly and didn't bother checking on Zackary. At the end she quietly crept up the stairs.

Zackary had curled up on a section of the bed, his back towards the door, with a good majority of the bed left. He was near a corner, one Afriel (if she were laying down) would have to stretch her legs out in order to poke him with a toe. The food on the table she left was cold. The medicine was abandoned and the cup of water she brung up was flat.

Afriel entered the room, the door creaking ever so slightly. "Hey Zackary, you up?" Her voice a worried whisper.

Zackary didn’t respond. She couldn’t hear his breathing from the protection of his wings, so she had no idea.

"Zackary?" Afriels tone quickly turned to panic and she rushed to his side. "Zackary gosh darn it are you okay?" She shook him lightly.

Zackary stirred a little and his wings twitched unhappily. He rolled over slightly to look at her. His face was pale and slack.
“What? Yes I’m fine.”

"Sorry I just- I'm worried Zackary. You don't look okay." Afriel looked at him helplessly. "Please if there is something wrong tell me."

Zackary shook his wings out unhappily and curled back up in his wings. “I’m fine,” was barely distinguishable.

"Zackary you are not fine! You don't look fine, you look sick!" Afriel resisted the urge to make him look at her by crossing her arms.

Zackary mumbled something, which was inaudible by his wings. He shifted again, ducking his head away with an annoyed croon.

"I know you're hiding something Zackary." Afriels tone became slightly annoyed as she looked down at him.

Zackary ignored her. He tucked himself up tighter and tried to fall asleep.

"Fine whatever." Afriel glared at him, "I'm going to go find a hotel to stay at tonight. Keep your powerful demon sickness to yourself."

He didn’t move. He soon rose out of the bed, snatched a few articles of clothing from his dresser and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Afriels jaw dropped in annoyances and she to stormed out of the room. Her mind raced with anger and sadness as she wondered the street, her wings close at her sides acting as a barrier between her and the outside world.

When she walked outside, there wasn’t a sign of him. The dust was stirred around the front door, suggesting he shot off as soon as he stepped foot outside.

Afriel rolled her eyes still annoyed and didn't bother going after Zackary. Instead she did exactly what she said she was going to do. Found a hotel and rented a room for the night.

Zackary was flying. He felt fine, ignorant and fuming with anger. Then one of his wings just… stopped. It almost fell in on itself and he fell. He wasn’t sure after that. The blood rushing to his head as he spun away knocked him out cold….

Skip a few days

A lofty accent and quick talking he soon recognized as French woke him up.
“Que faisons-nous de mal?” It exclaimed unhappily in a male’s voice.
“Je ne suis pas sûr!” Responded a female’s.

Over the past few days Afriel was miserable, her days consisted of work, looking for Zackary, and what little sleep she could get.
"Zackary!" She called while wondering the forest once again.

Zackary stirred and one of his legs harshly resisted. He gasped in pain, his eyes flying open.
“Ah! Il est réveillé! Il est vivant!” Exclaimed the female voice happily. Zackary saw her pointing down at him and jumping.

Afriel sighed looking up at the sky. "Zackary!" She called again, tears stinging at her eyes. "Fine, stay lost for all I care." She stretched her wings out and launched herself into the sky.

“Comment vous sentez-vous, monsieur?” Asked the male slowly, gazing down at Zackary with concern.
Zackary twitched to sit up, and his lower back gave a surge of pain in anger. He screamed loudly against his impulse and slammed back down onto the bed, panting.

The cold air- that always felt so welcoming -stung at her skin. Afriel wipped at her tears, feeling stupid for caring. Feeling stupid for pushing him.

“Il est toujours blessé, père! Que devrions-nous faire?” Exclaimed the French girl in fear. “Ses ailes! Leurs plumes tombent!”
Indeed his feathers were molting, if you’ve been following with translate. His bed was littered with faded gray feathers, the joints sent more surges of pain down Zackary’s upper back and shoulders. He pressed his head into the pillow and groaned in true agony, squeezing his eyes shut.

Afriel went back to the bakery and when Eden tried to talk to her, Afriel shook her head and went to the back.

“Non, non, non … il ne va pas bien,” crooned the older man, looking down at Zackary’s almost totally molted wings.
“Que va-t-il lui arriver, mon père?” The girl asked fearfully, clutching Zackary’s sweaty hands in her own.
“Je ne suis pas sûr, ma douce,” The man admitted.