Akira was laying on his stomach on a large tan couch with a book in his hand open he was peering at the page "Sense and Sensibility" by Jane Austen...he had a soft spot for Jane Austen romance novel...but...no one knew that.
His wings were out stretched and were moving up, out, together again, and repeating.
He rarely flew anymore and this was about the only way he could get his wings from painfully cramping.
With a sigh he closed the book and sat up, he wasn't entertained by it anymore, and there was nothing to do around here anymore. He hadn't met many people and the ones he had met...seemed...a little...crazy...
His wings were out stretched and were moving up, out, together again, and repeating.
He rarely flew anymore and this was about the only way he could get his wings from painfully cramping.
With a sigh he closed the book and sat up, he wasn't entertained by it anymore, and there was nothing to do around here anymore. He hadn't met many people and the ones he had met...seemed...a little...crazy...