Right, so it's not exactly an expression to match his costume, but Enjolras is fairly certain even archangels had opportunity to curse when their wings get stuck in doorways. In any case, he's having a bit of trouble with his own cobalt blue pair, both with blocking traffic, and then, once he's inside, trying not to trip over anyone. His matching mask isn't much helping his coordination as his eyes adjust to the scene either.
Besides the wings, he's wearing a linked coat of light chainmail he's managed to rescue from a secondhand shop. It might not be good for fighting anymore, but it was fine to paint over for the purposes of tonight. The sword he currently wears strapped to his waist bears the same painted effect, with some added angelic symbols done in bronze by a steadier hand than his, an old practice blade he sacrificed for the cause.
He's let his hair out of its usual tight braid for the moment, actually having taken the time to curl it so that it has the effect of a floating halo when he turns just right, or, at other times, something like a fluffy cloud. Of course, his movements are a little slow and awkward at first, though gradually, Enjolras is gaining confidence, even if he's not exactly gliding lightly on his wings or anything just yet.
As Satan shall be no more, Michael shall be no more, the thought runs through his mind as he mills around the entrance, a bit of an amused smile on his face. Well, maybe not everything he said and saw on the barricade was quite true after all...
Enjolras
Right, so it's not exactly an expression to match his costume, but Enjolras is fairly certain even archangels had opportunity to curse when their wings get stuck in doorways. In any case, he's having a bit of trouble with his own cobalt blue pair, both with blocking traffic, and then, once he's inside, trying not to trip over anyone. His matching mask isn't much helping his coordination as his eyes adjust to the scene either.
Besides the wings, he's wearing a linked coat of light chainmail he's managed to rescue from a secondhand shop. It might not be good for fighting anymore, but it was fine to paint over for the purposes of tonight. The sword he currently wears strapped to his waist bears the same painted effect, with some added angelic symbols done in bronze by a steadier hand than his, an old practice blade he sacrificed for the cause.
He's let his hair out of its usual tight braid for the moment, actually having taken the time to curl it so that it has the effect of a floating halo when he turns just right, or, at other times, something like a fluffy cloud. Of course, his movements are a little slow and awkward at first, though gradually, Enjolras is gaining confidence, even if he's not exactly gliding lightly on his wings or anything just yet.
As Satan shall be no more, Michael shall be no more, the thought runs through his mind as he mills around the entrance, a bit of an amused smile on his face. Well, maybe not everything he said and saw on the barricade was quite true after all...
((Michael (Michel) here! )