"Just a little sore." He downplayed it as much as he could. Wings were the thing that showed that he had mutated due to his father's dabbling with something that was supposed to be a natural thing. He was part of a new race due to this manipulation and he hated the idea.

He tried not to dwell much on his father's idea of a master race and that bothered him. "You, Angeal, are perfection."

Hollander's voice played in his head and instead of talking about it, he bottled it up. He reached for his drink and downed it. As he sat the glass down, he called for another with a wave of his hand. While most drowned their troubles in liquor, he chose apple juice. It was healthier and it acted as a balm for the simpler times in his life.