[muffin's purring turns warmer, steadier, and he slips easily into a doze. comfy and comfier still...
not long after the humming starts, he sighs and relaxes even further. he won't nap for too long (a catnap—), but for a sweet while he's as deeply asleep as if he were in his own nest]
Angel Devil allows himself to think of nothing, but learning more about the personal rhythm of his breath, the sound of Muffin's resting voice, and his purrs.
Perceiving people he cares about while they're vulnerable often puts an indescribable twist in his stomach, expecting only the moment that peace ends, whether he relishes that fact or not. But right now
he merely drinks of it, as it is. Some stolen island of peace, amid the sounds of the nearby forest and lake. ]
[watching as closely as he is, he can learn the little signs of muffin waking up too. the uptick in his breathing, how his purring rumbles louder as he becomes freshly aware of comfort, and the way he streeeeetches, sighs, and snuggles his face back against angie's side.
[ it's not like he's the only one that knows that... but if it's REALLY cutting close, it's not like he's out of range of cubecalls right now, either... ]
[ shifts so he's ready to stand when muffin is, to help to pull him up post-sleepies as much as he can as a Tall Noodle compared to someone who's actually fit. ]
[ he takes a second to stretch, himself, a bit more methodically than usual; not trying to play himself up into the image of languid indolence. he looks at the spot they'd laid in the grass, and...
does Mot resist the urge to brush at the flattened spots with his tail. at some point, he'd just... not... fed the magic powering tue illusion, while Muffin was napping.
he might have picked a flower surreptitiously but don't worry about it ]
...ah, that hardly made a dent.. Well! What do you think? A stroll along the shoreline? Or a flight in the blue skies?
[ this close, he can see the subtle barring in the feather color. a rush job, to keep up the flimsy appearance of normalcy. Muffin's seen what happens the magic's peeled off of him before. ]
It's a little dicier than the south side, but it's nice in its way, too. Less signs of passage from the people of the pasture. Denser vegetation.
[tugs on his shoulder, bend down. going to give his crest a still quick, but more thorough preen, making sure nothing grew in crooked or weak. chirps and makes a mental note to give him a proper grooming appointment later.]
More quiet, more overgrown is nice. Like fishing the other side of lake, but is nice to have real walk outside.
[ for some reason, when it's muffin... he notes absently he doesn't mind following along as he's guided to move. when it was on a purely professional basis, he didn't mind. but like this, when it's... Definitely... not...
he also doesn't mind. something to think about more, he supposes, because that absence is something novel. not.. new, around Muffin. But still novel.
...he's just molted, but he's definitely not going to be up to his full flashy self until the next one. they look like the feathers of someone stressed, grown in lean times. definitely some off-model feathers!! ]
The familiar, but in a new light. ...that can be rather precious, living in a small place.
[CONCERNING, but sure was a lot of stress from that ritual. his best guess is that the molt itself was from getting back into his own body, maybe the magic surged or something.
he tidies up the feathers as well as he can with claws and a couple scratchy cat tongue swipes. he knows some tricks for glossing up lackluster feathers, he'll get them looking handsome again when he has time.]
Even in small place like this, are still some new sights to see.
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not long after the humming starts, he sighs and relaxes even further. he won't nap for too long (a catnap—), but for a sweet while he's as deeply asleep as if he were in his own nest]
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Angel Devil allows himself to think of nothing, but learning more about the personal rhythm of his breath, the sound of Muffin's resting voice, and his purrs.
Perceiving people he cares about while they're vulnerable often puts an indescribable twist in his stomach, expecting only the moment that peace ends, whether he relishes that fact or not. But right now
he merely
drinks of it, as it is. Some stolen island of peace, amid the sounds of the nearby forest and lake. ]
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5 more minutes]
1/2
2/?
3/?
4/?
5/?
6/6
Hi, down there.
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Chrrt?
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lightly pets his hair. still just as quietly, ]
The sun's climbed higher.
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Nm... I'll get up.
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Thanks.
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[ he takes a second to stretch, himself, a bit more methodically than usual; not trying to play himself up into the image of languid indolence. he looks at the spot they'd laid in the grass, and...
does Mot resist the urge to brush at the flattened spots with his tail. at some point, he'd just... not... fed the magic powering tue illusion, while Muffin was napping.
he might have picked a flower surreptitiously but don't worry about it]...ah, that hardly made a dent.. Well! What do you think? A stroll along the shoreline? Or a flight in the blue skies?
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A walk sounds nice. Have never really been out to this side of the lake.
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It's a little dicier than the south side, but it's nice in its way, too. Less signs of passage from the people of the pasture. Denser vegetation.
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[tugs on his shoulder, bend down. going to give his crest a still quick, but more thorough preen, making sure nothing grew in crooked or weak. chirps and makes a mental note to give him a proper grooming appointment later.]
More quiet, more overgrown is nice. Like fishing the other side of lake, but is nice to have real walk outside.
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he also doesn't mind.
something to think about more, he supposes, because that absence is something novel. not.. new, around Muffin. But still novel.
...he's just molted, but he's definitely not going to be up to his full flashy self until the next one. they look like the feathers of someone stressed, grown in lean times. definitely some off-model feathers!! ]
The familiar, but in a new light. ...that can be rather precious, living in a small place.
no subject
he tidies up the feathers as well as he can with claws and a couple scratchy cat tongue swipes. he knows some tricks for glossing up lackluster feathers, he'll get them looking handsome again when he has time.]
Even in small place like this, are still some new sights to see.