A/n I want to thank you all for your input on Tord's personality, so I've decided, so you'll see that soon. I'm also sorry on the long wait! Soooo enjoy this messy sketch

.....................................................
After a few minutes of poking and prodding the satisfying click of Tord's door unlocking is heard. Tom grins and takes his equipment back, shoving it away and opening the door wide. Tord's messy room is displayed for all to see. A seat covered with papers, more and more papers and files scatter his room. His bedsheets lay on the floor instead of the bed. His room was chaos, it was a big change from when Edd had seen it last. He had to blink a few times to make sure what he was seeing was true, along with the huge mess of magazines, papers, files, and various other items jet black feathers found their spots in the mess.
Edd stares in horror, Tom in shock, Matt didn't stare at all only checking to make sure his nails looked ok.
"And Tom says I'm wreak-less with my feathers." Matt stated, cutting through the thick silence.
"I fucking knew it." Mumbled Tom, forcing his way through the mess stomping on papers and a gun. He picks up a handful of black feathers and holds them up for the others to see. Edd's eyes trailed off to something else.
"Tom.. grab that poster." Edd pointed to the crumbled and torn poster on the floor. It had a picture of Tord clearly printed to the front with the word 'WANTED' scrawled across the top.
Tom obeyed, picking up the paper and smoothing it out a bit, he read the font of the paper aloud. "Tord Larson, Red Army's leader Wanted for murder, arson... t- the list just goes on.." Tom mumbled, fear beginning to form a large pit in his stomach. Edd stares in horror, tears leaving streaks as they fall down his face. Matt at this point also looks slightly shaken.
"W- we need to get out of here!" Edd cries out, the other to move to leave to leave the room but freeze in their tracks. Tord stands in the doorway, wearing black jeans and a tank top. His body is covered in scars, the metal arm fused into his flesh. From his back spouts raven black wings, his left is torn and useless, the other large and strong. His eyepatch is long gone and sweat beads from his face. In shaking hands he clutches onto a pistol. "No you don't." He hisses venom dripping from his words.