[ All wars take their toll. Allelujah is used to the ring of them, the echo that sounds alongside his heartbeat, sure and steady and strong. Blanc's war is no different, even if it's not his own. Allelujah has all but adopted it anyway; these people and their strife reflect his own world that he sought to change. It's the same, time after time. The strong preying upon the weak. While he's often frustrated at this endless struggle, it's something he still bears with a grace that is tireless.
Well, mostly tireless.
It seems like clockwork, the arrival of new recruits drafted into Blanc's army. Some new to magic, some new to weapons, some new to the idea of a fight itself. While Allelujah wouldn't call his gift for fighting a blessing by any means, it's useful, and he can practice it for the better — to help people. Coupled with the actual war itself, there are moments when he finds himself just tired.
Now is one of those times, a morning training regimen leaving Allelujah dozing in his room, upright in one of the chairs. His long legs are loose, one bent slightly, heel balanced on the ground. His arms are folded at his middle, the sleeves of his uniform coat rumpled and cuffed. He smells slightly like the sea, slightly like the flowers adorning every nook and cranny of the room. While this may not be his home, Allelujah has come to draw comfort from being here, enough to drift in and out of a dreamless sleep as the sunset pours in through the window. Expending his mana so thoroughly through his magic and weapons leaves him the slightest bit vulnerable.
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Gimme cute roomie times
(blush | we are never frightened at a sunset)
Well, mostly tireless.
It seems like clockwork, the arrival of new recruits drafted into Blanc's army. Some new to magic, some new to weapons, some new to the idea of a fight itself. While Allelujah wouldn't call his gift for fighting a blessing by any means, it's useful, and he can practice it for the better — to help people. Coupled with the actual war itself, there are moments when he finds himself just tired.
Now is one of those times, a morning training regimen leaving Allelujah dozing in his room, upright in one of the chairs. His long legs are loose, one bent slightly, heel balanced on the ground. His arms are folded at his middle, the sleeves of his uniform coat rumpled and cuffed. He smells slightly like the sea, slightly like the flowers adorning every nook and cranny of the room. While this may not be his home, Allelujah has come to draw comfort from being here, enough to drift in and out of a dreamless sleep as the sunset pours in through the window. Expending his mana so thoroughly through his magic and weapons leaves him the slightest bit vulnerable.
In this room, he's fine with that. ]