MAKE YOU FALL IN LOVE ☆ o, preening

[wormwood.]

One thing most didn't think of when they first looked at Aurum was maintenance. To most that would see the angel on his day to day activities, he looked mostly carefully kept. His mane was a big too big and fluffy to have it combed down to the very hair, but it was very rarely unruly, and his feathers were often light and shiny, colorful in the best way. One might even thing that the lion just came prepackaged perfect, and he never really had to worry about that stuff. However, this wasn't entirely true. While, for the most part, Aurum wasn't constantly frantically fussing over every part of his appearance, it wasn't as if he neglected it either. He bathed often and flattened out his mane carefully, he checked himself to make sure he didn't have any ticks or fleas or any other undesirables, and he made sure that his eye was doing alright. After all, even though he had lost his right eye many months ago and had since gotten used to the one sided view of the world, it was still dangerous just having an empty hole in your face, even if it was mostly healed over. It still required semi-regularly checks, and he had even had Moth teach him how to deal with it on his own, before her untimely death. Now, he only wished he could have her still around to do it for him.

All of this aside, there was one piece of appearance maintenance that most wouldn't even begin to think of, and that was preening. Aurum, like any feathered animal, routinely had periods of molting, where his feathers would need to be shed and replaced with new ones. Often it happened all at once, but the stress of recent events had thrown everything out of whack for the poor angel, who had only noticed recently he practically had a line of feathers trailing after him. He had just wanted to go for a calling walk out in the gardens, but it seemed as though he would not be destined for such things today, as he was forced to stop where he was and inspect his wings. He winced at the state they were in, with most of his feathers bent or barely hanging on to make way for new ones. Sighing heavily, the lion sat down where he was, bringing his wing up and his head down to begin plucking some of the feathers away carefully. He ended up plopping them all down in a neat little pile that he could hopefully easily dispose of, although he knew he would already need to clean up the unusual feathered trail he had left behind. As he preened his wings, he found himself muttering bitterly, "Damn molting... could've given me more of a warning this time..." He hoped that nobody would be too perturbed by the trail of feathers until he could pick them all up – hopefully nobody would think that a bird had simply exploded on their pathways, either.

[icarus.]

Icarus generally keeps himself well-groomed but, in all fairness, he has less than half of the surface area to look after as Aurum does. He also has things a bit easier being a feline, and one notably without wings at that. Molting is never something that's occurred to him as necessary to other creatures. All he's ever had to worry about is keeping his golden pelt shiny, a simple enough task and one which he tends to with daily diligence.

Icarus has barely even entered the gardens when he spots a trail of feathers — a strange sight by most measures, but unless someone had made a particularly messy lunch of some poor bird he has a strong suspicion that they belong to a certain lion. So he follows, ears pricked and eyes glittering with curiosity until, lo and behold, he stumbles upon Aurum preening his wings. The tabby tom slows to a stop, observing for only a moment before nodding toward the pile of feathers and musing, "I hope those grow back." The warm mirth in his tone makes it clear that the words are meant as a lighthearted joke, but Icarus admittedly gives an inward shudder at the thought of a bald Aurum. Lopsided, barely-there smile tugs at his lips. The Judge has been fascinated by the other's wings before, and though he's never been the envious sort this perhaps makes him less desirous of such instruments of flights himself. Then again, it must be worth it if it means getting to taste heaven — just about anything would be, even falling.

[wormwood.]

Having wings had become, at a certain point, just the new normal for Aurum. It had definitely been a shock to the lion's system when he had first grown them. He had gone through several nights of agony just waiting for his back to adjust to the weight, and for his head to stop spinning from the pain of moving them. However, he had eventually gotten on his feet, and now it was difficult for him to recall a time where he hadn't had wings. It was also difficult for him to imagine someone yearning or feeling envious over his wings, however. They allowed him to fly, which was something he took advantage of often nowadays, but had he ever really thought about how much others could've desired that? Not particularly. With his caring and charitable nature, however, Aurum probably wouldve given wings to anyone who wanted them if he was able to, including Icarus. Unfortunately, he wasn't nearly as powerful down here as he had once been in heaven.

Head jerking up a little when he heard the judge, Aurum temporarily felt a rush of heat come to his face, below his golden fur. It wasn't really anything to be embarrassed about, considering molting was a perfectly natural process. Still, he felt bad about preening in such a public area. He knew things wouldn't have gone over well if he had gone traipsing around the entire manor to his room with a trail of feathers following him, however. As such, the best the angel could manage was a crooked smile to Icarus, and a soft laugh at his comment, muttering, "Don't worry, they do. Or at least, they have every other time they've done this." He then held out both of his wings a bit away from his body, both looking at least a little bit better after his careful attention. He still found himself sighing, his voice coming out in a soft grumble, "Unfortunately they need to molt and come back every month or so. It isn't too bad, since it means my feathers won't get all bent and damaged, but it also means... this happens." He gestured to both the pile of feathers in front of him and the trail behind him, wincing a little, "I promise I'll be cleaning up once I'm done..."