[He folds just enough so that Sunday doesn't have to stretch too much to reach for his horns. It may look like a strange, large beast inclining its head for pats, but let's not mention that.]
( A devil bowing to a dangerous angel, how cute. Sunday is glad that Sylus can at least respect his boundary, and he reaches for one of his horns, tracing his fingers delicately down the thickness of it. He brushes down hair as he reaches the root, almost like he's trying to figure out if it's truly part of him. )
[While not really sensitive, per se, one of Sylus' wings does twitch for half a second at the touch. Like he was expecting it, but not sure when the touch would land, surprised when it does. Yet, it's the comment from the angel that has him tilt his head further into the pads of Sunday's fingers, like daring him to be unabashed at his exploration.]
Oh? Do they? [He's absolutely amused by that because, well, it may as well be closer to his truest form.]
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And yet…] Your wings? Not your halo?
[He’s genuinely curious there, his head tipping sideways just an increment.]
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( Better not test what a biblically accurate angel can do. That halo of his is capable of imprisoning and lashing psychic damage to its foe. )
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[He folds just enough so that Sunday doesn't have to stretch too much to reach for his horns. It may look like a strange, large beast inclining its head for pats, but let's not mention that.]
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They suit you.
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Oh? Do they? [He's absolutely amused by that because, well, it may as well be closer to his truest form.]