Sunday has... regrets, standing there drenched, meager robe clinging to his body. Even the wings beside his ears have drooped, once-fluffy feathers now dripping onto his shoulders in that pure encapsulation of a drowned bird. It's miserable. He is suddenly cold, but he doesn't shiver, just... picks up his feet and walks barefoot toward the door, heels squishing wetly on the drenched carpet.
It was a miraculous display of power, one that he will linger on wondrously for a while — but he can't quite keep the woe out of his expression in the moment.]
I offer my thanks. [Sadly.] Though, I never did ask your name. I am Sunday — how should I address you?
such a proper french gentleman π
Sunday has... regrets, standing there drenched, meager robe clinging to his body. Even the wings beside his ears have drooped, once-fluffy feathers now dripping onto his shoulders in that pure encapsulation of a drowned bird. It's miserable. He is suddenly cold, but he doesn't shiver, just... picks up his feet and walks barefoot toward the door, heels squishing wetly on the drenched carpet.
It was a miraculous display of power, one that he will linger on wondrously for a while — but he can't quite keep the woe out of his expression in the moment.]
I offer my thanks. [Sadly.] Though, I never did ask your name. I am Sunday — how should I address you?