Warren Worthington III

How was it that Warren, who was used to spending hours preening his feathers, and then another good twenty minutes making certain his hair was just-so, was still ready to go out well before Karla was? It felt like he'd been waiting in the hotel room for just about forever, poking at things, bored, and trying to be patient while Karla did... whatever it was that ladies did when preparing for a night out.

He sighed, poking through the stack of receipts that had been left on the nightstand. So long as Karla was taking years in the bathroom, he might as well balance some- hello.

In Warren's hand, tucked away under the receipts, was a letter, written on Worthington Labs letterhead. And, just like that, his breath caught, fingers twitching as he tried not to pierce the paper with his claws.

There, in his father's handwriting and addressed to Karla, was a letter. Short, so short that a glance was all it took for Warren to get the gist of what it was about, the sight of his name in the body of the letter keeping him from putting it down right away.

Karla, thanks for your letter. I'm glad to hear that Warren is doing well. I would very much like for us to meet, please let me know when it would be convenient for you to do so.

Slowly, quietly, he set the letter back down on the nightstand, not quite able to look away.

Suddenly, he was far less excited for the ballet.
( Stupid kids are gonna be stupid. )

[Preplayed with glacial_witch and wesleynotponcy who also coded this! NFB/NFI, follows this, more to come later!

Warren had just about had enough of... everything. After heading Karla off at the Causeway, after getting his bearings and picking himself off the ground and trudging back to his room, he'd done more... well, more moping with the rabbit. It wasn't until a few hours wore on that he reached for his phone, thinking maybe he'd call someone, or check to see if maybe there was new news about... anything at all, that he realized that there was a message waiting for him.

Not five minutes later, Warren's wings were pressed up solidly against either wall, his chest was heaving, and he was staring blankly at the remains of his phone, punctured clear through by his claws, and sitting splintered on the floor.

It wasn't like there was anybody left who was going to call him, after all.

Warren was done, damn it. He was just... fucking done with it.

[Open with some slight SP heads-up, since I'm still animating and running largely on energy drinks.]

Warren was not laying on his back in his room with a rabbit on his chest, listening to All By Myself and contemplating eating an entire tub of Ben & Jerry's ice cream all in one sitting.

He wasn't.

Well, he was laying on his back in his room with a rabbit on his chest, at least. But the rest of it? He was a Worthington. He was above that. So what if Tony wanted nothing to do with him and Bobby had left in a hurry, never to return again? Solitude was kind of like his modus operandi. This wasn't so bad. He could cope.

... Okay, maybe he was thinking about the ice cream, too. But that was just because ice cream was awesome. Shut up.

[Open! That Warren and Tony had a talk is fine! The contents of the conversation NFB, please!]