Who: Arriane Alter What: Flying drunk is not a smart idea. Where: The roof of the complex, then the air above Lawrence, then some alleyway in a pile of garbage. When: Early evening
Lawrence Kansas was wearing on Arriane. She’d been social, but missed Sword & Cross Reform School like crazy. Even spending early morning detentions cleaning kudzu off of headstones and statues seemed preferable to this place if only because Georgia in her world was populated with her nearest and dearest. Most of said loved ones were angels. Arriane even missed Gabbe who was more like a saccharin sweet southern debutante than one of the Fallen. There were angels here, but she hadn’t so much as spoke to any of them. She’d been too worried that they’d completely shun her for having fallen from grace.
It was all of this loneliness that had brought her to the roof of the apartment complex, giant bottle of Southern Comfort in tow. If it had worked for Janis Joplin... Well, actually, it hadn’t worked out very well for her considering that she was long dead, but liquor was famous for numbing crappy feelings, right?
Maybe not so much for Fallen. Arriane had finished the bottle and was still left with a kind of sadness mixed with ennui. The best part of her stay in the place had been flying with Anakin. She let her eyes close and tried to remember the wind in her face, wings flapping just enough to soar over the city... Her eyes open. A smile formed on her face as it dawned on her that she could relive that experience any time she wanted.
The white, feathery wings tore out from under the flesh of her back. All of her shirts had some tears from the process. She’d come to consider it collateral damage. With a little bit of a jump, Arriane was airborne. It felt so wonderful to be in the air, swooping around some of the taller buildings, but then came something she hadn’t expected. Impact.
Arriane crashed head on with a building, uttering lots and lots of curse words as she tumbled down and into an alleyway. She grumbled knowing that even with her accelerated healing she’d be sore all over with lots of bruises to show for it.
“Shit.” She mumbled, rolling around as she got her bearings. Her wings slipped into her back for easy hiding once more. It seemed that flying drunk could be just as bad as driving drunk.