She sways a little on her feet when the door proves to be locked, vaguely convinced that she should be able to do something about it. Memories of simply putting her palm over a lock and telling it to open are too distant for her to fully grasp. The memory of a jackknife-turned-key is closer, but still ultimately useless. There is no sunlight here.
Then he calls the house 'finicky' - finicky - and she blinks at him incredulously. It registers, belatedly, that his wings are on the bedraggled side, and… is he wearing a bowtie? She's in absolutely no state to disparage him, but somewhere deep in her mind are the first stirrings of a thought that might become: angel or not, this guy is carthaginian ridiculous.
He pats her hand, then releases it, and she gazes down at it, just… double-checking that it's still hers, still all right. She's still looking down at it when the angel reclaims it, and then she lets herself be pulled into another room that, frankly, looks no better than the one they're in now (though it can't hurt to leave Bo's wreckage behind - that, at least, will be an improvement).
Sunlight.
As soon as she crosses the threshold, she is engulfed in bright, warm sunshine. They're in some kind of sunroom, or greenhouse, or something; she barely looks at it before shutting her eyes and turning her face up into the glow. That is… so much better. She lets go of the angel's hand so she can pile her hair on top of her head, exposing her neck to the light as well, and the pieces of herself she'd lost in the other room start to slot back into place, one by one. She just stands there for a full minute, soaking it in and breathing deeply, before opening her eyes and looking at the angel again.
"… Hi," she says uncertainly. She drops her hands, letting her hair fall back down to her shoulders. Gods, how do you make conversation with an angel? "Um. Thank you… again."
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Then he calls the house 'finicky' - finicky - and she blinks at him incredulously. It registers, belatedly, that his wings are on the bedraggled side, and… is he wearing a bowtie? She's in absolutely no state to disparage him, but somewhere deep in her mind are the first stirrings of a thought that might become: angel or not, this guy is carthaginian ridiculous.
He pats her hand, then releases it, and she gazes down at it, just… double-checking that it's still hers, still all right. She's still looking down at it when the angel reclaims it, and then she lets herself be pulled into another room that, frankly, looks no better than the one they're in now (though it can't hurt to leave Bo's wreckage behind - that, at least, will be an improvement).
Sunlight.
As soon as she crosses the threshold, she is engulfed in bright, warm sunshine. They're in some kind of sunroom, or greenhouse, or something; she barely looks at it before shutting her eyes and turning her face up into the glow. That is… so much better. She lets go of the angel's hand so she can pile her hair on top of her head, exposing her neck to the light as well, and the pieces of herself she'd lost in the other room start to slot back into place, one by one. She just stands there for a full minute, soaking it in and breathing deeply, before opening her eyes and looking at the angel again.
"… Hi," she says uncertainly. She drops her hands, letting her hair fall back down to her shoulders. Gods, how do you make conversation with an angel? "Um. Thank you… again."