this is what you've been running away from your whole life, buddy boy.
part 1, the shop.
part 1, the shop.
A gust of cold weather spread around his back. He was braced against the wind, feet shuffling, hands tucked around his sides to hide his arms in a coat of flesh. The scraping of his shoes on the sidewalk harmonized with the crowing wind, a symphony lit by the fireworks of his dense and visible berath. He gazed upwards, to the sky (a steely grey, bitter with cold) and listened to the two words that came to his mind. One, cold. Freezingly so to bare-armed him. The other?
Dumb.
Him, that was, out with no coat and waiting for any sort of ride home. Cold biting at his arms and shoulders, Jack Frost devouring strips of flesh. To escape the weather he'd been in store after store, looking sometimes for a coat, sometimes for warmth. Eventually these were the streets he wandered to.
Another gust caught him off-guard, tearing the wide, flat pin off the breast of his shirt. It coasted away on the back of the air comically, he running after it, stumbling to retrieve his name until it finally landed again, face catching the sun. The formal black of 'Mr. Lyle Flynn' glinted almost as if laughing at its owner. Lyle grabbed it quickly, pricking his finger on the sharpened pin. Wincing, he stuck the finger in his mouth, did up the pin on his shirt, and noticed then that the top part of his eyes were screaming at him.
He didn't understand how paint could glow so much - or so it seemed to do, bright and odd. The paint swirled and jutted its way into the English language, reading some interesting or unusual name. Lyle assumed. He didn't have the willpower to figure it out; the urge to read had died with his hopes for college. He looked down from the writing. A young dog was staring cross-eyed at Lyle, nose close enough to the window to fog it with its breath. Other animals were curled into each other or pawing at their cages, or nibbling playful at one another. Lyle's brain worked: if animals, then warm.
He knocked on the door before opening it. The change in temperature shocked him a moment, wind still rustling through the back of his straw-colored head. He pulled the door shut, realizing the cold was seeping in before him, and muttered an apology.
All the animals seemed a little less energetic from this angle. Did they always? He pulled his hurt finger from his mouth and offered it to the puppy who had just earlier been staring at him and let it bite childishly at the thin fingertip. Grey eyes swept the shop: dogs, cats, birds, lizards, all of those things that were nothing out of the ordinary. The most interesting animal, he decided without much thought, was the shopkeeper, uh, itself. Something was very purple about that being. Lyle blinked once at the person and gave him a very customer-like wave with his free hand, the other being chewed.
"Can I have this back?" he asked the puppy.
Disinclined
The friendly jingle-jangle of the door, and Shanuh hardly glanced up from his post. He was behind the register, staring down at what appeared to be some sort of inventory list - there were random numbers going down one side, two to three digit numbers going down the other side, and various words and letters and abbreviations in between.
It was jibberish, of course, but the chosen text and font lookd very professional. Shanuh currently was enraptured by scribbling out various letters with delicate sweeps of the red pen.
A scribble here.
A smiley face there - only to have it checked out and and crossed out moments after.
Was he bored?
Yes.
Would he ever admit to it - no way! That would be admitting he actually felt emotion, and heaven forbid that happen!
A few more pen marks and Shanuh quickly set everything aside. Stepping from around the dismal counter, his lips curled in to a casual, smile. "Welcome to the Birdcage. . . beware our puppies. They have a taste for human flesh."
Was that supposed to be a joke? It sounded that way - the gleam in his eye was akin to mischief and mirth, the way his lips curled and the ivory of his teeth glinted all screamed 'ha ha laughter funny'.
Poor Lyle couldn't know that occassionally Shanuh shared his snacks with the animals, and on more than one occassion those snacks were made of people.
It was jibberish, of course, but the chosen text and font lookd very professional. Shanuh currently was enraptured by scribbling out various letters with delicate sweeps of the red pen.
A scribble here.
A smiley face there - only to have it checked out and and crossed out moments after.
Was he bored?
Yes.
Would he ever admit to it - no way! That would be admitting he actually felt emotion, and heaven forbid that happen!
A few more pen marks and Shanuh quickly set everything aside. Stepping from around the dismal counter, his lips curled in to a casual, smile. "Welcome to the Birdcage. . . beware our puppies. They have a taste for human flesh."
Was that supposed to be a joke? It sounded that way - the gleam in his eye was akin to mischief and mirth, the way his lips curled and the ivory of his teeth glinted all screamed 'ha ha laughter funny'.
Poor Lyle couldn't know that occassionally Shanuh shared his snacks with the animals, and on more than one occassion those snacks were made of people.
"Er," said Lyle in agreement. The puppy worked its jaws to push an extra sharp side of its teeth into Lyle's already bleeding finger. He yelped - the man, not the dog - and stumbled back, managing to remove his finger from the puppy's grasp. "Er!" he repeated. "I noticed."
He shook out his hand, blinking a few times at the dog [an animal that gave him a c**k of the head on cue]. Wiping his finger on the hem of his shirt, he glanced outside again, where the wind was still cold enough to be almost visible. It was either this, where his welcome was a flesh-hungry puppy trying to gnaw his finger off at the knuckle, or an overdose of hypothermia. He weighed the choices mentally, picking out the pros and cons.
He stepped further into the shop. The animals seemed rather harmless from this angle, but after his recent encounter he could see a biter in everything: the rats, the rabbits, the kittens, the frogs. The fish. He seriously doubted that last one.
He bent by the side of a cage and stared at the animals inside. Rodents. They were moving less than he expected, and he coughed at them, hoping maybe the sound would convince them to move about. Lyle frowned at them, disappointed; they seemed so ... well, he didn't know. Recently his unintelligent side had been showing through. The word he was looking for was lost to him.
...
part 2, the masquerade.
A coat this time, but the cold still bit through the leathery fabric to his unimaginably fragile skin; human as he was, easily injured by the temperature. He was walking - anyone he'd known for a car or anything, they were all being joyous and merry at work or home, Christmas parties and wrapping presents all around. Lyle hadn't the slightest need, so he told himself [as if he could keep a desk job for any amount of days]. He was looking, this time.
And he found. That shop, the feeble looking one from his angle. He could see the sign against everything else. The colors cut through the air as thick with cold as it was. He understood why he was there as much as he understood why it was there; a deep mental attraction, maybe. Interest. Hunger.
Bah, whatever, he was there nonetheless. He stepped up to the door almost confidently. Closed.
Closed? It didn't seem like that type of shop. Well, all the better, so he figured; returning from a job he couldn't have he didn't want to dirty his clean jacket and shirt [particularly the latter, which was a nice white]. He told himself, anyways, and turned down the street and went on against the wind. He stopped dead when a stray icicle snapped off the overhang of a building and drove itself in the direction of his face.
He clutched at the injury with both hands. Blood, that was bad; the icicle had turned to a point where it was more optimal to give him a nice bruise and slash on his cheekbone. Lyle winced, turning to the apartment he passed - maybe they would have a first aid.
And it wasn't an apartment inside.
He stared at everything and everyone. Stared, blinked, and bled.
lithle
Xaxis, of course, was the first to catch the Kestrel's interest. But Xaxis was busy, chit chatting with a mortal woman of all things. Well enough, there was entertainment in that. Of course, it meant that Jer'ain, anxious and nervous at his side, would have to wait to give out the present she had so proudly created. But he knew she could be patient, knew she wouldn't interupt kin.
Poor, darling sibling. He hadn't meant to. Neither had Lithle. But such things happen. Her eyes were so dim and wild.
As to what drew him toward the man most recently entered, who was to know? Savius was Savius, and one would be hard pressed to apply any real strong words to his actions. Savius drifted, and did what he would. And, at the moment, what he would was greeting the bleeding man.
Maybe it was the blood. The Kestrel had a tie to it, though certainly not as strong as the one the Cardinal held.
And so the victorian gentleman and the twenties mob boss, approached Lyle together, Savius at a casual, lazy pace, Jer'ain in quick nervous steps.
"You're bleeding. Is it s'possed to be decorative, or something?" He asked, leaning forward to take a better look at the wound. "It does look kinda cool."
Wearing a tux and top hat or not, Savius only sounded like Savius.
Poor, darling sibling. He hadn't meant to. Neither had Lithle. But such things happen. Her eyes were so dim and wild.
As to what drew him toward the man most recently entered, who was to know? Savius was Savius, and one would be hard pressed to apply any real strong words to his actions. Savius drifted, and did what he would. And, at the moment, what he would was greeting the bleeding man.
Maybe it was the blood. The Kestrel had a tie to it, though certainly not as strong as the one the Cardinal held.
And so the victorian gentleman and the twenties mob boss, approached Lyle together, Savius at a casual, lazy pace, Jer'ain in quick nervous steps.
"You're bleeding. Is it s'possed to be decorative, or something?" He asked, leaning forward to take a better look at the wound. "It does look kinda cool."
Wearing a tux and top hat or not, Savius only sounded like Savius.
He blinked again, watching the shape of a rather distinguished gentleman come into view with his polar opposite hovering nearby. Lyle very nearly rubbed his eyes, almost staining his brow with his own blood, but caught himself before it was too late and decided on just blinking once more. It was then that he realized they weren't completely out of place; the entire area was filled with men, women, and -- birds? -- all wearing a sort of costume or mask. These two were no exception.
"It's real, thank you," he answered, not fully registering the question asked of him. He took his fingers from the side of his face - the tips were wet and colored. It wasn't bleeding terribly, no, but enough to call attention to itself and enough to very much hurt. The pain amplified when he realized the blood on his fingers, as cuts always do when first looked at.
"I don't suppose there were Band-Aids in the 1800s?" He prided himself on recognizing the costume, or what he thought was the costume anyways. "Or tissues, maybe."
It was trickling down his face, now, and it was warm but uncomfortable. And it still hurt. And he thought there might have been ice wedged into his skin.
lithle
"Just 'cuz it's real doesn't mean it isn't decorative. Though I think blood and guts is more halloween than christmas." The Kestrel shrugged, almost as if to dismiss his statement. Or perhaps he was only expressing a lack of interest in proper holiday tradition. "Sib, bandaid?"
"Mm-mm." A brief shake of the mob bosses head, as she dug into her pockets and came up empty. "Didn't think of it. Specially not without Taylor."
"Kay." Reaching over, he squeezed the androgynous female's shoulder lightly, before turning back to the buffet table. "We've got napkins though. And I bet I can find you a mask."
He lifted his own to his face then, the feathers of it matching those in his wings. Shed feathers had many uses.
The teenage boy didn't bother to hurry back to the table, unconcerned with the man's difficulties. He wasn't dying. They'd all know if he was dying. Of course, that wasn't to say his fate couldn't be seeled this night. The room was full of Death.
Deaths.
"Here we go." He selected a white cloth from the table, and held it out. "So, who're you. You're not a companion."
Though he spoke to Lyle, his attention was focused on that table. Savius wouldn't eat meat he hadn't killed, but he nodded at the squirrel approvingly. Shanuh's work, probably.
"Mm-mm." A brief shake of the mob bosses head, as she dug into her pockets and came up empty. "Didn't think of it. Specially not without Taylor."
"Kay." Reaching over, he squeezed the androgynous female's shoulder lightly, before turning back to the buffet table. "We've got napkins though. And I bet I can find you a mask."
He lifted his own to his face then, the feathers of it matching those in his wings. Shed feathers had many uses.
The teenage boy didn't bother to hurry back to the table, unconcerned with the man's difficulties. He wasn't dying. They'd all know if he was dying. Of course, that wasn't to say his fate couldn't be seeled this night. The room was full of Death.
Deaths.
"Here we go." He selected a white cloth from the table, and held it out. "So, who're you. You're not a companion."
Though he spoke to Lyle, his attention was focused on that table. Savius wouldn't eat meat he hadn't killed, but he nodded at the squirrel approvingly. Shanuh's work, probably.
Disinclined
"I smell something bleeding~!" The sing song voice cut through the voices of a small crowd. Pushing through a back door, donned in a lavish, porcelain mask splattered with black stripes came Nikel. The mask covered his entire face save his pink lips, while fake, sequined eyeslashes were glued above the holes meant for sight. It was a simple affair,and yet it matched his french maid outfit.
Fishenet stockings, ebony heels, and the matching ebony dress that looked more than a little slutty. In one hand held a black and white feather duster, in the other a try full of various, questionable goodies. "Does someone need first aid? I know CPR."
His mood, unlike the stoic Shanu, was friendly and amicable. This celebration was everything he'd dreamed of, and he wasn't going to let anyone have a drabby time. Nikel desired dances with absolutely everyone (male or female a like) and did have strategically placed mistletoe in his pocket just in case he was feeling particularly friendly.
All Nikel wanted this holiday was a few dances, some kisses, and possibly some dirty sex. But then again, when didn't Nikel desire such things? But it was the holidays, and that made it all the more special~!
"Cocktail, anyone?" Breezing his way through the crowd, offering his homemade and freshly killed goodies, Nikel kept his eyes open for the particularly attractive.
Lyle accepted the napkin with a grateful nod and pressed it to the side of his bleeding cheek. It stung just as much as before, now with paper grating against the wound, but if he had learned anything among the ramblings of the avid Boy Scouts who shared his year in elementary school, it was something about keeping pressure on injuries. He held the napkin to his face while replying, "Compan...? I'm just the guy with the blood and guts."
It was about then that he noticed a large concentration of the population of this room had wings.
"Uh," he said. "Oh." He said, "Uhm." He glanced back, following the Gentleman's gaze, and noticed a squirrel. Peculiar, he thought, I've never had squirrel before.
It was about then he figured he didn't really belong. A tad speechless and a bit in awe: him in few words. "So ... why the wings? Is it supposed to be decorative," he said, repeating Savius' earlier words, "or something?"
It was also about then that he seemed to be getting noticed. Something wavering pierced his ears, mentioning bleeding, and Lyle knew without a doubt that such something bleeding was none other than himself. He shifted his weight between his feet nervously, glancing back at that squirrel.
Donna the Vixen
Bleeding?
The word cut through the atmosphere and caught Ambers' attention as a newcomer...er...new..a person of some sort, for she couldn't specify the persons gender, announced it without so much as second thought to what discomfort it might cause. Deep sienna orbs turned away from the one she'd been conversing with and towards the origin of the voice, having already caught glimpse of the indescribable person, for who could miss them, in hopes of catching just whom had been injured. A moment passed, but the tell tale spread of crimson over the napkin gave the patient dead away and she turned again to the man with a small, sorry smile. "Guess work is never done, eh? Excuse me, please."
Before pausing to hear his reply to whether or not she was allowed pardon, the girl quietly slipped away and towards the wounded stranger. There were others around him, but she ignored those, they weren't people she knew or particularly cared about at the moment, but once within reach she did stop and gently extend her hand to the man. For once, the girl appeared to be truly calm, truly in HER element - where no one could tell her she was in error. The smile eased a little before giving way to low, comforting tones, "Excuse me, but my name is Amber, and I'm a nurse. I see that you've been injured, but if you would allow me to escort you to a seat, I can have a look at the injury and treat it in accordance."
The word cut through the atmosphere and caught Ambers' attention as a newcomer...er...new..a person of some sort, for she couldn't specify the persons gender, announced it without so much as second thought to what discomfort it might cause. Deep sienna orbs turned away from the one she'd been conversing with and towards the origin of the voice, having already caught glimpse of the indescribable person, for who could miss them, in hopes of catching just whom had been injured. A moment passed, but the tell tale spread of crimson over the napkin gave the patient dead away and she turned again to the man with a small, sorry smile. "Guess work is never done, eh? Excuse me, please."
Before pausing to hear his reply to whether or not she was allowed pardon, the girl quietly slipped away and towards the wounded stranger. There were others around him, but she ignored those, they weren't people she knew or particularly cared about at the moment, but once within reach she did stop and gently extend her hand to the man. For once, the girl appeared to be truly calm, truly in HER element - where no one could tell her she was in error. The smile eased a little before giving way to low, comforting tones, "Excuse me, but my name is Amber, and I'm a nurse. I see that you've been injured, but if you would allow me to escort you to a seat, I can have a look at the injury and treat it in accordance."
Someone closed the half of a circle of people beginning to surround him - quite female, and with that eerie calming smile of someone you'd see looking down at you when you were returning from a drugged unconsciousness on a hospital bed. Someone you'd hope to see, anyways. She was offering a hand to him, and he realized it was because of the worrying blood seeping through the thin cover of the napkin; was it really so noticeable? Lyle took the napkin from his face and glanced at it. The stuff had oozed through it like ink, exaggerating the real injury. He returned the smile and shook his head at the offer.
"I'm Lyle, and trust me, I'm fine." His smile turned to that of one who wasn't asking for help - of someone sure they could handle this on their own. With that, he folded the napkin over and pushed it back onto his wide face. He glanced about again, taking in everything from the wings to the masks to the marble flooring. He'd stumbled into a party, that was what - a party for the most confusing of sorts. It was welcoming and foreboding, frightening and fun. And Lyle realized he was standing there uninvited with a napkin set out by a selection of food that seemed to still have tire marks on them. Inviting.
"So," he said, "where the hell am I?"
Donna the Vixen
"Are you sure?" Laceration, cheekbone, possibly infected, perhaps embedded with ressidue from the incidents cause - possible staunching inacted, blood lost... The thoughts came without beckon as she continued eyeing the napkin with a bit of apprehension. Napkins were no substitute for bandages, especially not when said bandages had been exposed to an agent that would reduce the pain. At least, that was her opinion, if the man wanted to use a napkin - than let him. She only withdrew her hand, the question causing her to snap from her analysis of the injury and towards the fact that they were still in a public position. "At a party, I suppose. I certainly wasn't invited, but than again, no one seems to mind me being here so..." It sounded quite foolish, but as it was the first thing to spill from her lips, she did not readily retract it, at least not until given reason.
lithle
Oh, the woman was so very lucky that it was the Kestrel that she'd decided to interfere with. Because the Kestrel, frankly, didn't care. There was, actually, a mild hiss of annoyance when she approached, taking the attention of the bleeding man away. But nevermind, he wasn't going to cling to his prize, and there were plenty of others that he could talk to.
Still, he'd answer their question, first. Why not?
"Just a holiday party for the Kin." Savius gave another shrug his wings rustling mildly with the movement. Their surprise seemed silly, but who was he to talk? Some people grew up sheltered, and didn't manifest from birds or wands. "No weirder than anything else that happens on Gaia."
"'course no one minds. There's at least a few unbonded Kin here. They're probably hunting."
That said, he turned away from the almost interesting man and the woman that had taken him. Where was Xaxis anyway?
Oh. He headed toward the Raven at a mild pace, memories of their sleepover warm in his mind. Besides, there was Jer'ain, and her present.
Still, he'd answer their question, first. Why not?
"Just a holiday party for the Kin." Savius gave another shrug his wings rustling mildly with the movement. Their surprise seemed silly, but who was he to talk? Some people grew up sheltered, and didn't manifest from birds or wands. "No weirder than anything else that happens on Gaia."
"'course no one minds. There's at least a few unbonded Kin here. They're probably hunting."
That said, he turned away from the almost interesting man and the woman that had taken him. Where was Xaxis anyway?
Oh. He headed toward the Raven at a mild pace, memories of their sleepover warm in his mind. Besides, there was Jer'ain, and her present.
Lyle nodded to this Amber character as she insisted upon reassuring his health, a sense of 'trust me, really, I'm fine, sweetheart' coming across his brow in the lightest way. "I'm quite sure, thanks." And she took her hand back, which was good; he had either his awkward and underused left hand or his primary hand, the right, which was preoccupied by having its fingers tainted in his own blood. Pleasant. Definitely a good thing she'd withdrawn that hand - it would be really quite disgusting for both of them.
The nurse and the, uh, other thing with the mask, the wings, and the mobster girlfriend said two very similar things at two very similar times. All Lyle could tell from it was that he was in a party - something about Kin, something about not being invited. Had the Gentleman not left so very quickly Lyle would have asked about 'Kin' and maybe the fact that everyone had wings - but the Gentleman had, and Lyle couldn't. A party made perfect sense to him, though he had no alternatives to make less sense [undereducation was never very beneficial].
Two somethings walked around him and put him back into the state of mind where he realized that s**t, could I be any more in the way? He looked towards the pair to apologize but stumbled over his words; really, he supposed the hoods and such were fine, given the party as it was with birdpeople and dresses on gals and suits on boys and sometime dresses on boys and suit on gals. What had caught his attention, though, was the very familiar viscous substance spread about their gleaming weapons. Ah, he recognized what that stuff was now - it was coming out of his cheek, and now he began to look back at the squirrel dinner and think maybe that roast chipmunk mightn't be too terrible, really.
part 3, alone.
Lyle found himself in almost the exact state as he had entered: alone, bleeding, and confused beyond all recognition. At least now he had some form of a bandage and someone to fall back on if he felt the blood loss made him faint in any way [or if he died spectacularly, an idea which, although it vaguely frightened him, seemed quite humorous given the situation and the attitude of the majority of people who noticed his injury]. Now suddenly he was a bit colder, and he realized the doors were opened again to let in another guest to this party [likely invited this time], and he decided against lingering in the entranceway, moving forwards onto the true floor of the hall. He wondered how he would explain this late night disappearance to - ah - who was it he was living with now? Some friend-of-a-friend roommate, letting him occupy his extra room for so much a week as long as he did his share of necessary chores. Whoever it was. Lyle considered; ten more dollars would explain his leave for the night.
There went his new acquaintance, he noticed, a stealthy fluttering of wings landing nearby her. And he considered that squirrel again. He aimed himself at the tables of what could be considered refreshments and eyed the stuff warily a moment before catching his common sense again and remembering he didn't need all of his formal education to choose primarily edible things to eat. He swore that squirrel was looking at him, anyways.
[Amber hits the eagle] ...
A new but familiar voice cracked through the party air like a frightened whip and a lower clatter tagged onto the lesser end. Lyle couldn't help but snap his glance to the source - that girl who had offered to help him just earlier, overprotective like a new mother but professionally distant. Collapsed by a bird, something that was standing still defensively, beak jutting. Lyle only stared because of the sound, however, unaffected by what the scene could have been; he was a bystander, an onlooker. It wasn't his place. Had he been a better person, he would have approached and inquired.
He wasn't a better person, though sympathy spread through his brow and cheeks. He turned his stare down, away from her to spare her the burn.
part 4, assualted!
Disinclined
Blood. The beautiful scent of delicious blood. It was quite nice, in his opinion. Quite nice indeed. Intoxicating really, it was a scent that was hard to ignore.
Now. If he could only find the source.
Perhaps it was irony that drew the bald-faced turkey vulture over to where Lyle had stationed himself. A black feathered form, circling in the typical manner, over head the once-bleeding man.
It was hard to not notice such a spectacle. Once around, now a weave back to the other side, now behind him, and finally, with an ungraceful flop, the creature decided that Lyle would make a most excellent perch.
Claws dug in to this hair and the top of his head, trying to get the bleeding one to be stead enough to land. Heads - they were much better rolling on the ground with their eyes prepared to be picked at. Resting upon these shoulders was a ridiculou idea! They weren't stable enough to land!
Wings flapping wildly, the large bird FINALLY - after a bit of a fight - decided that landing besides the man would have to do. Dropping down, claws clicking against the floor, two black eyes peered curiously up at Lyle.
Mmm. Blood.
Would he share? He just smelled so darn good!
Lyle was in motion to shift about again, part of his brain wading through reasons on why exactly he was hanging around still [he needed a bandage, you know, and besides it was better than staying out in the cold, and he didn't have his rent ready yet] and the other part thinking maybe he could be amiable this time around. A few steps in, however, he was stopped. Painfully. Knives, or something like them, dug into his scalp without warning. Lyle demonstrated what could be interpreted as an interesting dance move in which the person is both stopped cold and in spastic action.
Although unsure if it were because of his movement or not, the thick needles [touching his skull, he could feel them grating on his bones but was that just paranoia?] pulled away and a recognizable sound crowded the air: chaotic flapping. Lyle stopped dead once more, his author unable to find a good synonym for 'stopped' in this context without bringing up a dictionary on paper or internet, his hands having shot up to his hair to see if blood were spreading there, too. It was. Today was not a good day for his health. He was taken from his concern for his safety when a blackish mass touched down next to him. It gave him a sort of indescribable look, and he gave it a sort of indescribable look back.
"That was you, wasn't it?" he asked, voice low in both volume and pitch. Then he caught a hold of himself and yelped something along the lines of "Jesus! There was a bird in my head!"
To hopefully calm his nerves he pulled his hands from his head again to check the bleeding. Not terrible but not fantastically little, either - how familiar since that icicle incident [how long ago was that, he wondered, about twenty minutes or something?]. No use, anyways, holding it back; he let his hands drop to his side and looked at the bird with a mixture of worry and irritation and interest.
Disinclined
The turkey vulture cocked his head curiously up at Lyle. The perfume Lyle had chosen for the evening was most alluring, and the vulture couldn't help but desire more. Such a fine speciman of a mortal, wearing the very juice that gave life.
Such a smart one - despite not being a very good perch.
Still, the latter could be forgiven.
With a swoosh, the vulture shook out his feathers, craning his head just a moment to preen a few that were out of place. The loose down, now shaken away, floated around the pair like snow.
A very fitting scene indeed.
Lyle wore blood to the party, and not many here could say they had such courage. The vulture liked that quality. He who was so bold. Reaching forward, the bird gave a small peck at Lyle's jacket.
Hnn. No blood there.
For shame! FOR SHAME! Such a delicious treat it was - meat. Carrion. Steaming, open entrails that oozed in sweet crimson liquid. Mmmmm. Lyle was a walking snack, but . . . even more . . .he was more than that!
Lyle was. . . different.
Strange that one could be more than a meal. But who was the vulture to question such things?
Opening his beak, the bird gave an obnoxious screech. Another peck at Lyle, hoping to bring the boy closer. Maybe they should stick together?
Then again . . .maybe they could cause a scene.
More blood could be drawn, couldn't it?
Oh, how very fun that would be!
The bird looked graceful for some time, reorganizing itself like all avians would, and Lyle could recognize that it was as large as it seemed. His gaze melted slightly to be less apprehensive then, but this passed quickly as it stretched its neck out towards him and tried to nibble at his jacket. Lyle jumped again and pulled away, tugged at his coat, staring again with confusion/disbelief/something that he really couldn't put his finger on at the bird. It cried out and his head bled a little more. "You know," he said at it, "I'm not as edible as you want me to be!"
He didn't move, though, standing there with a slight pout on his face. His mind seemed lagging behind him, though wherever it was, it was most definitely crowded by thoughts of why is there a weird bird attacking me?! But the current Lyle just stood. "If you're that hungry I can fetch you a dead rodent of your choice. There's a lot left. Really. It's depressing how untouched that food is." He coughed. It felt like all he noticed about this party were winged things and roadkill.
Oh, and fear. He was scared to death of this thing, he realized, his senses catching up to him and instilling themselves throughout his nerves. He only hoped that the bird couldn't smell emotions like everyone always says in those tall tales about vultures and such. It had bit his jacket - it could bite him - and he bit his lip.
Disinclined
The turkey vulture, despite being an avian, heard loud and clear the offer for road-kill. Sure, it had been sitting out upon the tables but this one wasn't particularly picky. It was dead, it was bloody, and that was how the vulture most preferred his meals.
Dead. The work was cut out for him by eating carrion - he could dispose of the leftovers, gorge over the unwanton bits and pieces. Ones garbage was another mans treasure, or so the saying went. This vulture - along with the sentiments of all the others- felt that very way.
Excited by the offer of food, though it not be Lyle, the vulture wanted an offering. Spreading wide his massive wings, the vulture gave a vocal screech and flapped his pinions with excitement. Yes! Food! NOW! Blessed roadkill, blessed blood - how delicious it would be to n** and pick and rip away the flesh of one once living.
Lyle had offered, and it was obvious that the vulture would accept such a treat. Softly, gently, the creature butted his head against Lyle, trying to force him over to such coveted treats that sat untouched upon the various tables.
This one was full of great ideas. . . . Hmmm. . . . . The vulture was growing more and more pleased with this bloodied boy. He just might be it.
Dead. The work was cut out for him by eating carrion - he could dispose of the leftovers, gorge over the unwanton bits and pieces. Ones garbage was another mans treasure, or so the saying went. This vulture - along with the sentiments of all the others- felt that very way.
Excited by the offer of food, though it not be Lyle, the vulture wanted an offering. Spreading wide his massive wings, the vulture gave a vocal screech and flapped his pinions with excitement. Yes! Food! NOW! Blessed roadkill, blessed blood - how delicious it would be to n** and pick and rip away the flesh of one once living.
Lyle had offered, and it was obvious that the vulture would accept such a treat. Softly, gently, the creature butted his head against Lyle, trying to force him over to such coveted treats that sat untouched upon the various tables.
This one was full of great ideas. . . . Hmmm. . . . . The vulture was growing more and more pleased with this bloodied boy. He just might be it.
He should have guessed. Actually, he realized, he had. Already he had turned towards the tables of food, rendering his question almost rhetoric. He did a strange half of a jump when the bird nudged him, almost disgusted that it even touched him. His pace towards the table only quickened.
The choices were many. He noted himself feeling interested in what to choose for the bird and blurred it out best he could, not wanting to end up with the mistake of taking a bird that big home - wherever home was at the moment [a small few-room apartment he shared with a friend of a friend, or something] - let alone have to deal with it hours on end of the day. He hovered over a nice-sized thing that looked kind of like a mixture between two fish. They looked repulsive to Lyle, who preferred to eat his meat cooked and without scales, but he figured that for a vulturely thing such as that they would be a perfect snack. He moved back to the bird and crouched in front of it, holding out the fish[es].
"Think this will do?"
He swore the fish whose eyes were visible winked at him and he dropped it with his eyes even more buggy than that of the fish.
Disinclined
Fish! Delectible, lovely fish! The vulture was pleased by the offering, though he would have gladly taken any road kill choices or even some green vegetables! Blood was his favorite, of course, but fish had blood, and were quite delectible in their own right!
As Lyle dropped the fish bits to the ground, the feathered one wasted no time. Picking and pecking at the dead things, the vulture wanted nothing more than to taste their fishy sweetness. Their insides were absolutely screaming to be devoured, to be lapped up like manna in the desert. Such a treat, such an offering - Lyle wouldn't be leaving alone this evening.
The bloody one, the good one who had given him an offering. It sealed the deal, this free meal. Instead of having to circle the city, searching for the dead, perhaps this Lyle could bring it to him instead! How fantastic, how beautiful, how marvelous.
He'd found his one and only, he'd found his companion. Lyle, regardless of how he truly felt, wouldn't be alone anymore. Anytime he bled, the vulture would know and be there for him. In return, he expected a few free meals.
As Lyle dropped the fish bits to the ground, the feathered one wasted no time. Picking and pecking at the dead things, the vulture wanted nothing more than to taste their fishy sweetness. Their insides were absolutely screaming to be devoured, to be lapped up like manna in the desert. Such a treat, such an offering - Lyle wouldn't be leaving alone this evening.
The bloody one, the good one who had given him an offering. It sealed the deal, this free meal. Instead of having to circle the city, searching for the dead, perhaps this Lyle could bring it to him instead! How fantastic, how beautiful, how marvelous.
He'd found his one and only, he'd found his companion. Lyle, regardless of how he truly felt, wouldn't be alone anymore. Anytime he bled, the vulture would know and be there for him. In return, he expected a few free meals.
The bird ate without hesitation, as if it hadn't been fed for days on end. Lyle knew better - the vulture didn't seem frail, not to him - but he still stood back a step in case the thing finished and decided to turn on him. In fact, it didn't - instead, when he finished, the bird hopped once towards Lyle, wings fluttering just the slightest, and let out a short screech. Loud, as if Lyle might miss it otherwise. With another small jump Lyle inched back towards the table of food and blindly grabbed a piece of meat that smelled of rubber and offered it to the turkey vulture.
As soon as he saw the raccoon, the vulture happily echoed his cry and pulled it from Lyle's grasp. The raccoon was giving him this one-eyed, pitiful look - it wasn't that he was really hungry, decided the vulture, but he was doing his duty! The little thing was so dead that it was mercy just to rip it apart. To nibble at its intestines. To chew away all its sores and nearly its bones. He ripped a fine strip of meat off the dead thing's tail and sliced and swallowed with his head raised. Of course, although eating a tasteful selection of meat, the smell of Lyle's blood wafted past regularly, tempting. Ah, well, maybe not now; he did have a long time to try it, since he didn't plan on leaving this man for quite some time. When one saw the opportunity for food without effort and a bit of attention, one usually didn't turn the opportunity down unless you were a bit mixed up. The vulture definitely knew where his priorities were.
He ate the raccoon without objection and shoved what he didn't finish under one of the tables for safekeeping. Smiling, sort of, given that he was hindered by his inflexible beak, the turkey vulture gave a birdy belch.
"What?" Lyle asked, brow furrowed at the bird. "What else do you want me to do? You can fly, come on, get it yourself if you don't like what I gave you."
He gave the bird a stare, confused. It stared back. Lyle fidgeted and blinked and the bird spread its wings and crowed once as if it had become triumphant. It was liking this person more and more, actually.