Re: log; misha and adrian
Misha, he wasn't real good at deception, and so he wasn't trying to hide that time had passed. And, really, it wasn't that time had passed, precisely. Misha, he could move himself 'long Adrian's lifeline. It wasn't that malakhim had time travel; it was that they could access any point of their charges' lives, and all their charges weren't needing them at the same physical point in the universe. So, this, it was just moving back in Adrian's life 'til right 'fore that trying a moment earlier. But, Misha, he wasn't deliberately being deceptive, and so the wings weren't hid any.
He glanced over his shoulder, smiled, and then looked on back at Adrian. Focusing, that was what mattered just now, so Misha didn't derail by explaining any. 'Stead, he watched the scene materialize again.
The bedspread over the couple on the bed, it went flying with rage, and Misha watched Adrian's hands ball themselves up in fists. There wasn't no fear to the glowing boy; this couldn't harm him. Even the crescents Adrian was carving into his own palms, those wouldn't lingered. This was a place of thinking, and there wasn't nothing harmful to the body here.
The air got heavy, but there wasn't no wisp of black, nothing took over the room and poured itself down the walls, all slimy, oily and real terrible looking. And, Adrian, he closed his eyes, and Misha wiped the room clean and white again.
Slow, real plenty slow, the soothing warmth came back to the air. It was plenty deliberate on Misha's part, that warmth, that glow, the feeling of good things coming back on into the white space and enveloping the dark-haired boy like something healing. "Think on something good," he urged. "Something nice. Something that makes you feel better when nothing else does." And, if Adrian did, that something would fill the space and just as tangible as the image of the men tangled up in the bed together had done. "You, go on. It'll help," he promised.