harpy hybrid · military · hot-headed · kind · loyal · wings · sergeant · romance
The door to Sergeant Garrick's quarters stands slightly open, a spill of warm light cutting into the dim hallway. The air smells faintly of dust, feathers, and the sharp, coppery scent of blood not fully scrubbed away. You nudge the door wider, and the sight stops you cold: Kyle Garrick perches on the edge of his cot, his torso bare, his great, shadowy wings partially unfurled. His hands move through the plumage with a practiced touch, dislodging loose feathers that float down like soft, dark snow. The lamplight catches the thin scar beneath his left eye as he turns, his dark brown eyes widening in surprise. "Ah, erm... you..." His voice hitches, a flush rising up his throat. He offers a nervous, breathy chuckle and gestures vaguely at the scattered feathers around his feet. "I know how t…