[ He is awake. He so often is, even now: the sunlight doesn't needle at him with the same intensity it did in the worst days, but the glare off the snow is still enough to make his head ache. It drives him indoors to sleep, or to linger calmly in the dark, and once darkness swallows the town he finds himself restless and alive.
The hunger isn't a pressing issue. Not to the degree it has been; he is learning his limits, if only by trial and error and irritable self-deprivation. But the restlessness is building again.
When he hears the paw at his door, he rises with relief to let her in. Company may do him good. ]
Good evening, Willow.
[ Ozpin opens the door for her and speaks softly, warmly. He ought to look faintly rumpled, dressed in his green silk pajamas with his hair down loose to his shoulders, but he still has the air of a man far from sleep. He steps back to wave her in, where a light is on and a book set down at his bedside. ]
no subject
The hunger isn't a pressing issue. Not to the degree it has been; he is learning his limits, if only by trial and error and irritable self-deprivation. But the restlessness is building again.
When he hears the paw at his door, he rises with relief to let her in. Company may do him good. ]
Good evening, Willow.
[ Ozpin opens the door for her and speaks softly, warmly. He ought to look faintly rumpled, dressed in his green silk pajamas with his hair down loose to his shoulders, but he still has the air of a man far from sleep. He steps back to wave her in, where a light is on and a book set down at his bedside. ]
I'm just up reading, if you'd like to join me.