Stride didn’t respond at first, lips preoccupied with gulping down whiskey as quickly as she could pour it. After taking a rather sizable chug, she leaned back into the couch, head lolling to one side. [color=#BC6101]“Never heard of many angels comin’ all the way down here,”[/color] she said. [color=#BC6101]“Or not havin’ wings when they do.”[/color] The matter of angels existing wasn’t something that surprised her- in a world where demons lived alongside mortals, taking up regular jobs at coffee shops and whatnot, it wasn’t hard to swallow that a few of their divine counterparts might be sauntering about. 

Absently, Stride scratched her wrist, surprised that the skin itself wasn’t burning or anything. A part of her considered grabbing a bottle of ibuprofen from the closet to deal with it, but she eventually decided that the whiskey would be enough. With any luck, Zephyr would ask her whatever it was he had to ask, leave, and then the whole searing pain would just go away on its own.

She finished off the contents of her glass, and was pouring herself another cup when she caught sight of Zephyr staring at her. Not saying anything, not doing anything else, just...flat out staring. It was kind of uncomfortable, actually, and Stride found herself squinting at the angel in response. [color=#BC6101]“The fuck’re ya lookin’ at?”[/color]

[@Daemanis]