Shadow The Hedgehog (notan) wrote in oldredux, @ 2017-10-09 04:48:00 |
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Current mood: | grumpy |
[Accidental Video Post]
Getting up early was normal for him. Shadow needed little sleep as it was and with the last dregs of summer disappearing and moving into colder temperatures - sometimes sharing a bed with a scruffier hedgehog who preferred to use him as a body pillow rather got too warm. Just because he could deal with extreme shifts in hot and cold didn't mean that he wanted to all the time.
A cool shower would calm his inner Chaos until he decided to go practice and expend some of the build up. Doing so now would only annoy the other beings in the hotel, or gain more attention than was polite in the middle of the night. He'd settle in for some tea and a book until at least sun up - then all bets were off.
The painter liked his routines anyway, falling into them like well worn shoes and adjusting them as he saw fit. Sometimes the hotel would ruin his plans, or a meddling rogue blue would, but he was used to this by now.
At least it was late enough that he could shower in peace, making it quick to keep the noise down, before tugging on a clean pair of light pajama pants to at least finish drying his sodden quills. He didn't bother with the standard button down and slacks this early in the morning, just in case of an unfortunate tea fiasco, but he had a spare sleep shirt at the ready as he continued rubbing a towel back and forth, coaxing the quills to reform and stand as they were meant to.
It wasn't until he worked the left side that he noticed the line in the mirror, half hidden in the deeper parts of black, and paused. Blinking crimson at it, he shouldered the towel to lean in, his fingers sinking in and parting the fur as a streak of silvery gray lead toward the tips, following the line of red marking.
He sighed, then fiddled with the quills to see how deep the streak went, finding some of the dead ones in the midst. Plucking them free, he set them down, mentally counting as he wondered if every one was related to something he had to deal with from one of the boys.
Age never really bothered him much - he knew he was older than most due to containment and years passing by, if one wanted to be specific about it, but he supposed the visual representation was another reminder. Either way, he leaves the streak alone, now that the damaged quills are out, and tosses them in the bin before nit picking the rest of his quills, drying them to the acceptable point of upturn.
He reaches for the shirt, pausing as he gives the white of his chest fluff a ruffle, and frowns as some comes out on his fingers. "...ah. Of course."
Shaking them out and brushing his hand off, he snags his comfortable shirt and slips it on. There's a quiet little crick of muscle and bone working against one another, the hedgehog wincing softly before he rolls his left shoulder to ease the discomfort. His hand moves to it, rubbing the ache away before he scowls to himself.
"Bloody hell, if this keeps up I'd almost wonder if it'd be better to force a regeneration..."