((This is pre-demon, so if anyone wants to play with angel Tony now is your chance, but Justin's coming to get him))
The smell of the warm, drying papyrus was a deep, soul comfort to Tony, who lingered there with it as the sun sank and threw long shadows across the fields in front of him. There were bigger jobs and bigger ideas to do here now, but there was both profundity and simplicity in this one and only a small window to enjoy these meager beginnings. And it smelled better than the dung in the house. He stretched out on his stomach on the hot stone, head propped in his hand and wings flared open and relaxed across the paper, heavy tunic ready at his side for the chill of the night. The ink still wasn't perfect, but this lazy and relaxed, Tony couldn't work up much more passion for it than a finger dragged through the spot of soot and thoughtful hum. He was going to have to invent something for this lack of energy. There wasn't a tea strong enough for this hour of the day.