09-01-2018, 10:12 PM
[size=10pt]Zachariah doesn't feel a thing, but he still cringes when something sprouts from between his shoulder blades. The little transformation is quick and not as grotesque as he imagines it to be, but listening to his bones crack and break as they organize themselves makes him cringe. It saves him from falling several feet to the ground and possibly shattering into a thousand tiny pieces, sure, but he feels that it only draws more attention to him, and that's the last thing he wants. He's already walking around dressed head to toe in heavy winter wear, a meek attempt to muffle the stench of rotten flesh and formaldehyde, but wings? That's just over the top.
As he carries himself up to the carriage where everyone else is congregated, Zach tries his best to keep himself covered with his heavy coat, as much as the wings will allow. He's known ever since he got here that he isn't a pleasant sight, let alone smell, so he would rather not let anyone fully witness the state his body is in. Self-conscious as he is, he reminds himself that he had come up here for company, though he kind of feels out of place. Everyone is - or at least appears to be - much younger than he is. Zachariah likes kids as much as the next guy, but unless they need help with their biology homework, he doesn't really know what to say.
"Awh, don't bully 'im," he pipes. "I like his macaroni art." He doesn't really, but he knows better than to tell him the truth. At best, he's indifferent to it. It's no better than that of a kindergartener's mindless scribbles. Maybe if he were actually five years old, Zachariah would offer him a pat on the back and an enthusiastic "good job," but the most he can do is lazily come to his defense. "Why d'you make all these... trinkets anyway?" Zach can't imagine that his little business is actually booming. These things, charming as they are, are the most useless things one could possibly have. He wants to know just why Rialto makes these things. He'll at least give him props for never losing his motivation, even though he assumes that Rialto makes about two dollars a month off of his little business.
"What are y'all doing up here?" Being so high up is quite impractical. Someone's bound to take a tumble, and he would sure hate if he got roped into cleaning it up. He's already hidden enough bodies in the past ten months. "If anyone falls 'n' breaks somethin', I ain't liable." Does he count as adult supervision?
As he carries himself up to the carriage where everyone else is congregated, Zach tries his best to keep himself covered with his heavy coat, as much as the wings will allow. He's known ever since he got here that he isn't a pleasant sight, let alone smell, so he would rather not let anyone fully witness the state his body is in. Self-conscious as he is, he reminds himself that he had come up here for company, though he kind of feels out of place. Everyone is - or at least appears to be - much younger than he is. Zachariah likes kids as much as the next guy, but unless they need help with their biology homework, he doesn't really know what to say.
"Awh, don't bully 'im," he pipes. "I like his macaroni art." He doesn't really, but he knows better than to tell him the truth. At best, he's indifferent to it. It's no better than that of a kindergartener's mindless scribbles. Maybe if he were actually five years old, Zachariah would offer him a pat on the back and an enthusiastic "good job," but the most he can do is lazily come to his defense. "Why d'you make all these... trinkets anyway?" Zach can't imagine that his little business is actually booming. These things, charming as they are, are the most useless things one could possibly have. He wants to know just why Rialto makes these things. He'll at least give him props for never losing his motivation, even though he assumes that Rialto makes about two dollars a month off of his little business.
"What are y'all doing up here?" Being so high up is quite impractical. Someone's bound to take a tumble, and he would sure hate if he got roped into cleaning it up. He's already hidden enough bodies in the past ten months. "If anyone falls 'n' breaks somethin', I ain't liable." Does he count as adult supervision?
[align=center]characters + 16 + he/him