[Closed RP for @a-phoenix-must-burn]
Strix's quarters are, as expected of a man of his position, spacious. Spacious, but empty; there are no trinkets, no decorations, no hints of who Strix is. Just a military-made bed, a table with no hints he ever eats, a bookcase of so many tomes that it's impossible to get a handle on what he reads, just.. empty. A void where a person should be.
Well... usually, anyways. Strix ordered takeout in anticipation of his guest. It sits on the counter of his kitchenette. Almost taunting.
When his door opens, Strix straightens; his head tilts, the light glinting off of the glass of his mask. Even in his own quarters, he struggles to remove it.
"Hello, little bird," he says, striding over to help the man in, eyes taking in the injuries. What a shame; Strix despises seeing wounded birds. "I trust my men didn't give you too much trouble."











