Liam Roberts is an (author) wrote in rooms, @ 2015-02-28 16:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | !marvel comics, *narrative, liam roberts |
Marvel: Liam
Who: Liam
What: A nighttime outing
Where: Marvel: New York City
When: Friday night
Warnings/Rating: Some darkness and NPC death
Waking like this was a strange thing. He was half there, half not, pulled along by something he couldn't name or even comprehend. Legs swung over the edge of the bed, ignoring the other man who slept there, whose legs were tangled in the mess of blankets that covered the mattress. He rose silently, moving on auto-pilot, not even the feathery mass of wings at his shoulders making a sound as he dressed.
Black pants. Black shirt. Black shoes. Black gloves. And over top of it all, a black coat, hooded, fitted for the wings to allow them to extend and stretch.
The door closed behind him with only the softest of clicks, the elevator taking him to the roof. It was from there that he took off, white wings spreading from either side, the night sky his only companion as he flew. Something tugged him along, a feeling from behind his navel, pulling and urging him in a certain direction. He didn't try to protest, didn't try to struggle, instead simply going where he was needed, where he was wanted.
When feet finally touched the ground, he was only yards away from an unconscious teenager. He was laying still on the ground, blood oozing from the side of his head where his very skull had been caved in. From somewhere behind him, he could hear footsteps, but he paid no attention to them. Instead, fingers touched to that wound and warmth poured from his hand, the energy that kept him well, that kept him whole and unharmed leaking out and into the boy that lay on the brink of here and now. The wound healed with a speed that was unnatural, a voice behind him yelling out in surprise.
Attention. He was gathering attention.
He turned quickly, the healing mostly done, and then with a speed that was nearly unnatural, the winged man lunged forward.
There were three of them that had noticed. Three of them that were calling attention upon themselves. Upon him.
The sound of breaking bones filled the night-air for only a brief moment, a surprised sound of pain, and three bodies tumbled to the ground at his feet. He felt nothing, no remorse or shock at what he had done. These three had been guilty, after all. They had caused the one to be injured. And him…
He turned back towards the teen, meeting his gaze for only a moment, and then the winged figure in hooded black flapped his wings three times and lifted back into the air.