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 Posted: Thu Apr 24, 2008 7:02 pm
She's always silent, always distant, always at the same perch. And she watches. Some Minders simply ignore her, and urge their charges to do the same. Others will chase her away, after warning the young fledglings to 'stay away from that crazy old bird.' Whatever they do, the message to the clan's youth is the same - Fletcher is odd, old, and mostly harmless.
Tonight is a night like many others. Minders are minding, Teachers are teaching, and Fletcher is watching. From time to time a mus will arrive, climbing up onto her back to whisper near her ear before it scurries off once more. Those within the enclave have already resigned themselves to the watcher's presence, in the hopes that she will leave sooner if she is ignored. Sometimes it works - tonight, it does not.
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Posted: Thu Apr 24, 2008 7:38 pm
The aberrant was watching them again. Catchfly noticed without thinking about it, filing away the old Sentinel's position without thinking about it, memorizing every detail of her placement. It was more interesting than his typical activities, most of which consisted of quietly avoiding the torment of other fledglings, fledglings who flew beautifully and quickly and answered questions. Fledglings who were, in a word, normal.
"Catchfly, ignore her. Eyes up here, now."
The gruff Minder's irritation bewildered Catchfly, who glanced back with half a mind on nothing but Fletcher. She was odd, pale-eyed, and...crazy? Catchfly wasn't sure what he thought about that. Different, yes, but not crazy. Different like him, but not like him. Catchfly turned his head again, blinking slowly at the old bird in the hopes of making eye contact.
She was interesting in a way that most others weren't.
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Posted: Thu Apr 24, 2008 7:59 pm
"See? Started already," she mutters to the mus upon her back, perched as it is between her shoulder blades. It doesn't take long for the minders to start in on the fledglings once they notice her presence.. especially that one, the oddly quiet bright-sky-eyed Wildtype. Her expression twists into a faint scowl at the minder's back - that one is one of the worst, even daring to fly at her in an angered display of strength when he's not busy with his charges. So absorbed is she in her contemplation of the grumpy minder (he was a fledgling once, she remembers, and she remembers a time when his minder warned him not to pay attention to her, and that minder was a fledgling once, and she remembers...) that the attempt to make eye contact is missed, lost in her silent reverie.
"Watching you," the mus peeps quietly, interrupting her chain of memories, and Fletcher turns her head suddenly to stare directly at Catchfly. The quiet warning makes her think it is another minder, or perhaps even someone else to be wary of, so her eyes hold a bit of wildness (and even anger) before she realizes who she is looking at. Who is looking at her. Startled, her pale greengold eyes widen as she jerks her head back. Fletcher is caught, for once, somewhat unawares.
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Posted: Fri Apr 25, 2008 7:41 pm
He himself gave an involuntary soft peep of surprise (and even perhaps fear) when Fletcher jerked back, fluffing and then quickly sleeking his feathers in the hopes of not being noticed. Or at least...quickly for Catchfly. An instant behind everyone else, this one. Never quite on par, never quite there...an oddity in slow motion.
The Minder was distracted, now, and Catchfly glanced back once to make sure he would not be missed. Shuffling away from the pair of other fledglings that make up his small family (fledglings that speak and act more quickly and take up the attention he never bothered wanting), he turned himself slightly, to simply watch Fletcher.
Having made eye contact, his curiosity can only deepen. Idly, he catalogues everything around him: positions of the other Sentinels, words that are spoken, direction of breeze and colour of light filtering through the trees. Fletcher's expression.
He has gone from interested to captivated, now.
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Posted: Sat Apr 26, 2008 4:53 am
She tilts her head. Slowly, steadily, her head tilts to the side while she watches the fledgling. He fluffs, he sleeks, he shuffles towards her. And she tilts her head, the movement seeming to be separated from the rest of the body - while her feathers fluff and then sleek in a mimicry of his earlier reaction, while she shuffles to the side on her branch to copy his slow movement - until she is looking at the wildtype from a ninety-degree angle.
The other fledglings, the minder, they are both still there.. but they are not interesting. This small little bit, this slow and odd little fledgling... he looks when he is told not to, he answers after everyone else, and he's moving away from the others. Towards her. "Class starting," the mus advises her, letting Fletcher know of the next event she had meant to attend this night. Irritated at the distraction, she flicks one eartuft at the companion and it falls silent.
Class is starting.. perhaps she'll be lucky and those other fledglings will be taken there by the minder. And she's still staring at Catchfly, still has her head tilted to the side. Quite deliberately, she blinks her nictitating membrane (so she does not break eye contact).
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Posted: Tue Apr 29, 2008 7:47 pm
Catchfly can hear his Minder behind him, fussing, looking about, asking after the fledglings. The first two answer, and he hears her click her beak, pleased. Catchfly does not answer her. He never answers. And, as always, he is assumed to be listening and following. The Minder is distracted with two mischievous young females. She will not miss the near-silent, constantly blundering male.
He ignores the bustling and chiding and continues to watch Fletcher. The old bird so different from those he has otherwise seen. This one seems to look at him without scorn or concern. She is just...looking at him.
Her gaze is much too much for him, and he blinks and looks away, raising the feathers on his head self-consciously. He can still hear the Minder, but she has fussed off and is trusting her fledglings to follow her. He will not be missed. Without looking back at his group, he moves even closer to her. Because she is different and he has been told to ignore her. Because she is watching him without trying to decide whether or not to tumble him to the ground. Because she seems to be so invisible...so much like him, without being like him at all.
After a slow thought, he decides that he likes the pattern on her feathers. No Wildtype or Deep Woods wears brindling like that. If something as visually appealing as that is Aberrant, he wonders why it is such a bad thing.
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Posted: Wed Apr 30, 2008 7:28 pm
He holds eye contact longer than she would have expected, but Fletcher still can't help but grin to herself when he looks away. Small victories, small and empty, but she'll take every one she can get. Like this potential conquest that dances before her, the minder leaving and this new interesting little bit to inspect, this one promises to be quite entertaining. At least, for the moment.
She's been watching long enough to notice what the others see - his delayed reactions, his seeming lack of ability to speak normally, his overly deliberate thoughts and movements - but she's also been watching long enough to see that there's nothing explicitly tumble-worthy about Catchfly. She's also been watching long enough to see something far more important. He's interesting.
The aberrant watches the odd little fledgling move nearer, her gaze leaving him only long enough to trace out the path that lies ahead. Platform... branch, branch, and then a distance that is likely too far for his young wings to traverse safely. So she drops, suddenly, moving with the sort of easy grace that speaks of countless decades of flying experience, and lands upon a closer perch.
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Posted: Thu May 01, 2008 11:20 am
He fluffs and jerks back when she comes closer, almost stumbling and sitting right down on his tail. Flaring his wings for better balance, he settles himself a moment later and blinks at the elder, sky-bright eyes wide with surprise as well as alight with curiosity. So she is approaching him? That is a change from his typical meetings—not that there are really enough for any sort of meeting to be considered “typical.”
For the first time, he now scans the area ahead, seeking the same path that Fletcher has already found. Shifting from one foot to the other, he sways slowly from side to side as he contemplates it. He is not much of a flyer; flapping is about the extent of what he can do, and that often only serves to put him more off-balance than before. But he is interested in this aberrant who seems so interested in him. And so he risks himself for the sake of curiosity.
Edging toward the edge of the platform, he spreads his wings hesitantly and crouches, looking doubtfully at the platform. A brief pause while he steels himself for what is to be done, and he throws himself forward, flap-hopping his way to the first perch between himself and Fletcher. Keeping his wings spread to stabilize himself on the bobbing branch, he gasps once and then looks up at Fletcher again, looking surprised.
Did he just do that? Himself?
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Posted: Thu May 01, 2008 8:01 pm
Fletcher gapes her beak in silent laughter at his antics, eyes sparkling in a manner which makes it somehow clear that she is amused by the situation and not laughing at the fledgling. She is careful to keep her urges to speak in check, careful to resist the desire to babble ceaselessly, careful to make sure that the Minder doesn't hear her and return to check on the missing fledgling.
Patient, she's being so very patient while he moves to the edge of the platform and looks for the way to get to her. Has she seen him fly? Can he? He'll need to use his wings at least a little bit, but she's watched so many fledglings over so many seasons and it's so easy to lose track of who can do-- oh, well it looks like Catchfly can fly! He's gone and flown and landed before she's finished her contemplation. Now isn't that a pleasant surprise!
"Wings not so slow, are they now? Nicely done, nice nice indeed," she croons, squinting down at the wildtype.
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Posted: Sun May 04, 2008 2:41 pm
The praise makes the little fledgling puff his feathers and close his eyes, smiling but ducking his head bashfully. Admittedly, he is just as surprised as Fletcher is, having never really tried a leap of anything more than a wingspan before. But all the same, her praise fills him, and he finds himself on the verge of opening his mouth and begging for more, like a hungry fluff.
It’s not that he is neglected, simply that praise for him is treasured. He rarely does anything worth notice, much less worth praise.
Still silent, he looks at Fletcher, at the next step in the path, and flaps his wings once, unwilling to try again. The branch bobs a little bit when he shifts his weight, and he’s not sure if he can push off as easily from here as he can from his previous perch on the platform. And it would be bad if he were to fall. He knows that while no adult will tumble him purposefully, none of them will trouble themselves overmuch if he slips and plunges to death all on his own.
He doesn’t make any assumptions about the old watcher. After all, she’s interesting, but he has heard that she is insane. It might explain her attitude toward him, since obviously no sane Sentinel is curious about him. But insanity doesn’t bode well for rescuing him if he falls.
So instead of saying anything, he simply blinks up at her, fluffs his feathers, and tips his head almost fully to one side. The question isn’t explicit, though the attitude of inquiry is blatantly obvious.
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Posted: Sun May 04, 2008 2:58 pm
"What, so soon? Giving up so soon?" She shakes her head, scorn and amusement waging a war within her gaze as she peers first at Catchfly and then at the next branch in his path. Curious, amused, and most of all interested.. she mimics his movements once more, the branch she perches on wavering while she flaps her wings as if she's about to leap into flight.
"Fly, fly little bit. Come see Fletcher, come and see, trust, trust in your wings. They work faster than your beak, you see, faster faster, bringing you upwards and away. Up, up, you won't go down unless you look," she singsongs, tilting her head to the side again. "Young feathers, young wings. You don't need to fear a thing."
In a odd bout of patience, the watcher remains at her post.. even as the mus upon her back gives another daring tug at her eartuft, reminding her of the class she'd intended to watch. She ignores him, again. For now. And instead, she watches her newest little curiousity.
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Posted: Sun May 04, 2008 5:29 pm
Her little chant intrigues Catchfly and he bobs his head in time to the song. Encouragement is not something he is used to, and like the praise, he drinks it in eagerly. Fletcher is the first to pay attention to him (attention that is not negative or bewildered, anyway) and he is attracted to her like moths to sweet-smelling flowers. Shifting his weight and considering the push-off again, he pumps his wings twice and again throws himself forward, catching the air and again moving himself forward in something a bit too controlled to be called a jump, too clumsy to be called flight.
Inexperienced (and slightly slow) talons miss the branch the first time, and with a short, sharp cry of dismay, Catchfly flares and thrashes his way into a position where he can better grab, just barely managing to keep himself from tipping upside-down. Finally settling himself, panting, he shakes from beak to tail, puffs out his feathers, and then begins to preen himself clumsily, inexpertly.
When he is more settled, he glances back at Fletcher again, still panting a bit, still somewhat terrified from that last (successful) endeavor.
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Posted: Sun May 04, 2008 5:47 pm
"Good, good, rough but good," she nods, still shifting her weight enough to make her branch rise and fall in time with her nodding, "Practice makes perfect, little bit, never fear." Would she have let him fall? Perhaps.. but only for a short distance. Or at least, that's what she tells herself - it depends on what she'd find most interesting, see, and she rarely knows the answer to that ahead of time. She's fairly certain that she would not have allowed the fledgling to come to harm. This time.
"Feathers first, always feathers. Keep them clean, keep them settled. Feathers in place, once you've landed, so that you are ready to leap away again," Fletcher watches his inexpert preening carefully, and once his gaze returns to her she sets to re-ordering her own feathers. Slowly, deliberately, drawing out each movement so that he may watch the minute details of her actions. From time to time she glances at him, as if to be certain that he is paying adequate attention.
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Posted: Mon May 05, 2008 7:55 pm
He watches her preening and immediately understands it as a lesson. Intent blue eyes fasten on Fletcher’s beak, and he memorizes her motions as easily as other fledglings might learn the theory of flight. After a few minutes of watching Fletcher, he eagerly tries again, mimicking the motions in a slow, jerky way, readjusting flight feathers and gently guiding everything into place.
Finished, he looks at Fletcher, looks around, and then looks straight ahead. Not too much farther to go now, to the interesting aberrant Watcher. She seems encouraging, and Catchfly, entranced by anything that gives him positive attention, moreso by anything odd that gives him positive attention, is eager to keep the attention coming. Also eager to see what it is that this old bird wants, of course. But also for the attention.
So he shuffles toward Fletcher, expression brightly inquisitive. He is silent, though, silent but for the soft shuffles and clicks of his beak and claws as he shifts to a more optimum perch.
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Posted: Mon May 12, 2008 10:36 am
"Good good, careful careful. Not too hard, not too soft. Give a shake, let them settle, nicely done, yessss," she intones, leaning forward a bit and then giving herself a vigorous shake to encourage her feathers to fall into the correct position. "So quiet, so so quiet. Beak busy, busy beak, good for the mind if not for the Minders."
His uncertain movements keep her attention fixated, and his obvious interest in reaching her is.. well.. interesting. So she moves, both as a demonstration and to test the extent of his interest. She readies herself for a short flight, each movement drawn out, slow, deliberate and easy for him to watch and memorize, and then finally she leaps into the air and flaps easily to a nearby branch. Now he must travel further, but he's had a demonstration of a proper take-off and landing... so what will he do? She cocks her head and watches, interested - the gap between them is larger now, and more intimidating.
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