Warren came in from his morning flight, relaxed and ready to get ready for the day. He was quite happy until he saw the brace he used to hide his wings. Of course, it also tended to make them cramp up abominably and made any irritations nigh impossible to scratch. After a moment's consideration, he kicked it and continued on his way. There were times when he wondered if his father had made the brace out of titanium as a show of wealth or to make sure it could survive Warren's temper.

Warren continued on his way, unfurling his wings for one great flap that carried him over the living room area instead of navigating the furniture. He smiled a little to himself, remembering the last time he'd done that in front of his father. He'd never known his father's face could turn that shade of purple, nor that it was possible to make him so upset he'd sputter incomprehensibly. Ever since then, that had been one of the chief reasons he never covered his wings when only in the presence of family.

Warren made his way to the washing room, drawing his wings inward to fit through the doorway without really thinking about it. When he'd first gotten his wings, he'd ran into so many doorways at such great speeds that his father had replaced them all for fear someone would ask what had created the dents. Warren was just glad that the upper parts of his wings were so sturdy that he felt no pain from his accidents. At times his father made him so angry that he was tempted to have a few more 'accidents.'

Slipping inside the shower stall, Warren frowned slightly. Anyone else would have found the stall incredibly spacious, since most men would be able to stretch out both arms without touching the sides, but it was rather cramped for his wings. At least there was room enough to move about in if he was careful. Warren stepped under the faucet and turned it on, not bothering to let it heat up since he never took hot showers anyway. Hot water tended to make his feathers dry strangely, and after about a month of cold showers he'd found that the temperature no longer bothered him.

Warren lathered up, washing his body and shampooing, but he was careful to keep the soap away from his wings. It tended to dry them out. After rinshing and running enough water off his wings to get the outsides clean, Warren knelt down and raised his wings so he could get the spray to go between his feathers and clean the placed he couldn't reach himself. He closed his eyes and moaned his pleasure. This was his his third favorite part of his morning rountine, the first obviously being his morning flight. After staying under the cold, relaxing spray for longer than was strictly necessary, Warren finally rose, turned off the spray, and went about the rest of his business.

Things such as brushing his teeth and hair were no different from what anyone else would do, unless one counted how particular he was about it. He was the heir of a multi-million dollar company and knew he would be expected to look the part. If anyone managed to take a picture of him with something in his teeth it might turn up in tomorrow's tabloids with a suitably hokey title. It was somewhat simpler for him than most, since he had enough to buy several lifetimes' supplies of the top personal care products on the market. He'd mentioned this to a friend once, who had decided to make sure that Warren had several unusual products along that line. He'd been bought various make-up supplies, a bikini-waxing kit, three wigs, and a kit containing twenty kinds of tweezers. He'd laughed at the time and planned on who would be the next victim to recieve the gifts, but he had found a use for the tweezers and make-up foundation.

Sometimes small pinfeathers started growing in at his ankles and wrists and had to be removed. Carefully searching, Warren found one still under the skin on his left wrist that was still too small to be seen unless one knew what he was looking for. It was best to get rid of it now, before it was big enough to hurt more. He removed one of the medium, sharply pointed tweezers and used the point to burrow under his skin to pull the pinfeather out. It only took a moment and a wad of toilet paper on his wrist to stem the bloodflow. Even when they were this small his feathers all had a vein running down the middle. Once the blood had stopped flowing he'd use a dab of foundation to cover the irritation.

Warren continued on to the kitchen. This was his second favorite part of the morning. He filled a bowl with olive oil, spread his wings, and started oiling them. Keeping them properly oiled meant that water ran off them so he didn't have to dry them and kept them in tip-top condition for flying. The gentle pulling on his feathers from this routine always lulled him half to sleep, and he smiled gently as he worked. At times he imagined how it would feel if his wife did this if he ever got married. All too soon he was done and had to clean up the evidence. It wouldn't do to leave anything odd lying about for the next reporter who broke into his apartment.

Next he grabbed his coat and went to put It on. He was still struggling with whether or not he should name his brace The Rack, after the medieval torture device. Somehow, it seemed too kind a name. He was sure he could come up with something better eventually, so for now it was merely It. He struggled into the brace, slung his coat on, and went out to start his day.

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