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Pidge Name: Speed Limit 55

Short History: Speed was always a serious little guy. Even when he was a chick he was more likely to listen and do as he was told than to make trouble. And when he heard Claude giving one of his speeches, he agreed with him wholeheartedly and decided he would join the patrol when he was grown. When he was a fledgling he spent hours and hours learning how to be a better flyer, training himself on hard courses with heavy weights, such as sticks and even small stones to work on his strength.

Once he got older cynicism hit him. He often wondered if anyone realized how hard the patrol worked to protect them (or tried to, at least). Even with this problem on his mind, he still took his job seriously (a little too seriously, actually, poor guy). When he became an adult he went to work at the patrol, even dying his feathers to show how serious he was about his responsibility and place in Big Ma’s flock.

Personality: Serious, cynical, honorable, secretly vain. Speed is the first one to take on a threat to save others, even if he doesn’t feel appreciated or respected for it. He also has a secret love for reflective surfaces, like water, ice, or his key.

Whats with that key of his?: During his fledgling days he wandered a bit too close to the human world while training. There was a human (a rather short one as far as he could tell) who had the key hanging on a string around its wrist. The child got distracted by something and the string and key fell off.

It was the perfect thing for training his strength and speed, he thought, and he dove down, grabbing the key with his talons and flying away. When he landed, far from where the humans were, he looked at the key closely and realized that it was good for something else, as well. It reflected his image! Thus, his secret vanity set in. When he’s not doing his job (oh, sooo seriously,) he tends to sneak off and look at himself in the shiny key’s reflection.

Pidge Name: Locksmith
Short History: Born above a locksmith's, that's where his mother picked his name for him. He grew up around there before their family joined Big Ma's flock. He returns there, every so often, as he is fond of the old locksmith shop. There's lots of shiny things there, and the smith's work fascinates him, even if he keeps out of the smith's sight.
When he returned, the second time, after they joined the flock, he saw the smith going out... and he dropped a key. One... single, glittery key. Locksmith looked around, and then darted down, and snatched up the key, before flying out of sight. He carried it as long as he could, and hunted for something to carry it in or on. He found the chord it's on hanging from a telephone pole, and he snatched that up too.
Heading back to the flock, he asked another pidge to help him. He put the key on the chord, and then held it while the other tied the chord in a knot behind his neck, so he wouldn't have to lose it. He carries it every where now.
Personality: A curious bird, by nature. He loves locks and keys, and could spend hours watching people use them, make them, etc. He likes to explore other things as well, but locks are his fascination. He seems to have a mild obsession with them, in fact.
Whats with that key of his?: See the History for how he got it. He is very possessive of it, however, and when he gets a chance to do so... He tries to fit it in every lock he can find. He desperately wants to find out what it opens. Other then that, though, it seems to be his good luck charm, and he loves it to DEATH.

Pidge Name: First National Bank
Short History: Although it may seem that First has been around Big Ma's flock all of his life, it isn't true at all. No, First National Bank was born to a flock of pidges in a small, nearby town about twenty five miles away or so. His family, unfortunately, were very stuck on themselves due to their wealthy lifestyle. They were also a bit over protective of young First, something that made a big imprint upon his life. Due to their desire to always keep him close, as soon as First learned to fly he found himself running away from home in an attempt to gain some freedom. But that wasn't the only thing. Shortly after that, he began stealing things from other pidges and birds, sometimes going so far as to even steal from a human or two. Flirting with many females was also a favored pass time of his. However, it wasn't to last. Bored and fed up with his small town and the opportunities it didn't have, First decide it was time to leave. Shortly after that, he managed to find his way to Big Ma's flock by sheer luck, if that's what you would call it. Surprised by Ma's warm, nurturing nature and desire to give her flock members their independance, First decided to stay and has resided in the flock ever since. Now he is trying to become a better pidge and make himself useful in attempt to redeem himself for the shortcomings of his past.
Personality: First National Bank is a pidge that likes to keep to himself, but doesn't mind the company of a few close friends every once and a while. He isn't a total loner, yet he still enjoys his privacy and alone time when he can get it. It allows him to think and reflect on things that have happened or thoughts he may have. First is also a rather secretive bird, one that doesn't like to tell others about his past life or of his family. That isn't to say he is a cold pidge, however. In fact, it is completely opposite. He is a very nice guy, but it is just a quiet sort of nice. He will gladly talk to anyone who is willing to talk with him, but would just prefer it if were one on one instead of in large groups. And although it may not seem like it, First is a natural flirt. He treats women very well, and enjoys all of them that he talks to, but he has a secret motive for doing so. One day, sometime in the future, First National Bank hopes to settle down with a nice female pidge to start a family of his own. That is what he wants the most. Only then will he truly open up, giving the key to his heart to the pidge of his dreams for them to unlock.
Whats with that key of his?: First calls it the "key to his heart", but in actuality it is a key for the diary of a young girl that managed to get lost. It was the first item he had ever stumbled across, so has a very high sentimental value. First National Bank intends to give the key to the female he decides to spend the rest of his life with.

Pidge Name: You Must Be Thirty-Six Inches Tall To Ride The Thunderbolt (Inch)
Short History: Inch and his parents lived in an amusement park when he was young. His parents were an odd combination of fanciful and formal, leading them to give their children long, convoluted names, such as Step Right Up! And See The Bearded Lady and Inch's own name. They lived happily, oblivious to the aging park's decline, until one day, they saw the bulldozers tearing up a former nest site. Horrified at the humans' disdain for their natural habitat, the family uprooted and found refuge with Big Ma's flock.
Personality: Inch can be summed up in one word: Braggadocious. Not a word of what he says is anything close to the truth, though it may have been so at one time- it's just so stretched and pulled out of proportion that it's screaming in pain. Anything you can do, he can do better. Did you chase one of Baker's birds off the neutral territory? Great and all, but he chased Baker himself out of his own territory! Did you frighten a gull into giving up some food? Good for you... now, let him tell you about this eagle that he beat up. He fancies himself quite the ladies' Pidge, but has never taken a mate. Something about that one-partner rule would kill his flirtatious, bachelor lifestyle. Inch would dearly love to be a tactician or flock head one day, but with his complete inability to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, that seems an impossible dream.
Whats with that key of his?: While living in the theme park, Inch found it to be a veritable treasure trove at night. He would dart about picking up discarded bits of cotton candy, goopy ice cream cones, and anything shiny he could find. One item, a strange flat thing that he found dropped near the roller coaster, was on a loop of string. The knot had come untied, but it was no problem for a clever Pidge! He thought that if the humans wore it as decoration, only a very important, brave Pidge could steal it off of one. The others didn't need to know he had merely found it. He never tells the whole story of how he beat up the human and took their treasure, but his allusions are enough.

Pidge Name: Nightwatch
Short History: Nightwatch was a normal pidge that was living in an old, closed down diner on the side of the road. His glossy ebony feathers made him quite the ladies' man, and he knew it. Okay, Nightwatch was a flirt. A major flirt. He liked nothing better than to flit around to the other pidge groups in the diner and make the ladies trip all over themselves, just begging him to take them home with him that night. Before that night, Nightwatch was a calm and smooth pidge that was always ready to hand out a smooch to any lady that wanted one-which was to say, every lady! He was always around, waiting for a certain pidge. Nightwatch never told anybody that pidge's name, until she came up to him one day. That day sparked something into life inside Nightwatch. he became more caring, gentle, and kind. He was a new pidge when she was with him, and they were as happy as can be together.
That is, until that night.
That one night was the worst. A few people living in the area had spotted him and a other few desirably colored pidge flying in and out of the building, and they wanted to know who owned them. A pet store owner named Phil MacIlvy claimed the birds, not knowing that they were pidge adn absolutely not caring, thinking that these birds would be just another set of money-makers for his run-down shop off the corner of 5th and 7th Street.
He hired a few bird handlers to go up to the diner and take all the birds in there for his shop, and they came. At least five of them, and the pidge inside the diner didn't have a chance. Up until then, Nightwatch had lived a charmed life that he wouldn't have given up for the world. The last thing he'd remember of that night was her trying to break free of the handler that held her, and his despair as they shoved her in a cage and took her away. Her screech of terror and despair would ring in his ears for many nights after that... Then, a cloth hood was slipped over his head, leaving him blind and nearly deaf to the world for the time being. After a while, he stopped fighting-what was the use? It was all over. He then began building a second personality to act as a sort of mask to what he was really thinking. The new personality would be the near-exact opposite of his real one, and it would be his front for when he found a place to settle down and begin his plans for revenge.
But then, after he broke out of the store (see the What's With that Key? section at the bottom for that story), he flew around for a while, lost and alone. He didn't know where to go, didn't know what was going to happen to him. Then he found Big Ma's flock. He instantly took a liking to the warm atmosphere of the flock, and he fit right in. Nightwatch even got a nice ink job to match the flock colors, so he would be a little bit more inconspicuous. Eventually, his little 'secret'-the fact that he has split personalities-slipped out, and he was osctracized formt he majority of the flock. Some called him a freak, and in others, all he saw was pity in their eyes. After that, he settled more and more into his first side, and he became somewhat reclusive. Most pidge have forgotten about his secret, but some still know-and they never fail to remind him of it.
Personality: Nightwatch has two sides of him: His first side, that he mostly shows to the world. And his second side, the dark and smooth Nightwatch that he really is. In his first side, he's a worrywart that's overly cautious, with a penchant for running into trouble. Nightwatch has a big heart and loves to help out, but he's also a bit shy, which can make him seem aloof to some pidge. Because of this, he's sometimes not the most popular pidge in the group. Even if he's been ostracized by a certain pidge, he'll go out of his way to help them if they need anything. He's a patient pidge who can take time out of his day to help out anywhere that it's needed, so he's a sort of jack of all trades-and a master of none. Try as he might, he can't seem to find a job that really suits him...or that he's any good at. Nightwatch is basically a big feathery teddy bear...excpet, that is, if he's mad. When Nightwatch gets mad, you don't want to be on the recieving end of what he can dish out! Nightwatch sometimes has his little glum days, and those can last for days at a time. He's also a bit afraid of getting too close to anyone, because of the incident that cut his happy life short and brought him into his painful existence at the pet shop. But, his second side is quite the opposite of nervous, kind Nightwatch. The second side of him is an ebony-plumed enchanter, a rogue that will steal your heart and drive you crazy. He's a silver tounged devil here; a devious mastermind that plots to take revenge on the petstore owner that imprisoned him.
What's with that key of his?: You want to know? Let me put it into a story for you.

Nightwatch was on edge, ready to take the key and go as soon as possible. Tonight was the night where all of the animals in this godforsaken hole that was called a pet shop to escape. The ebony colored pidge narrowed his eyes at the napping counter clerk, pure hatred showing through. An emerald-scaled green anole on the perch next to him whispered, "Ey, Night! Whenna we gonna do this?" to the intently focused pidge. "Soon, my scaly friend, very soon." Nightwatch said lucidly, puffing himself up and flapping his wings to get ready for the mad dash he had to make. "You always thought we were stupid. Now look who's the 'dumb animal'..." Nightwatch hissed to the snoozing clerk, his rage building inside him. It felt like a burning lump inside his throat, choking his voice and making him unable to think straight. His eyes locked in on the store key around the clerk's neck as it rose and fell gently with the sleeping teenager's slow and relaxed breathing... With a cry of triumph, Nightwatch flew straight at the clerk's chest, snatching the key in his talons. The clerk's eyes shot open and he yelped with confusion and surprise. As the clerk shot up to his feet, reaching for the ebony pidge in his majestic flight, he tumbled over the turtle that had been making its way to the door in order to prepare for the escape. "Come on!" Nightwatch bellowed, shooting for the door. He grasped the key in his beak now, inserting it into the lock as he had seen the pugdy, pasty old store owner do every night for the past year...and with a click that seemed to take forever to be coaxed out of the metal lock, they were free.
Lizards, pythons, birds and anything else that could survive on land were surging out of the ridiculously small petstore in a frenzied wave, with a screeching Nightwatch at the head of it. They were out, it was time to go for one thing...
Revenge.
Ever since that night where Nightwatch broke the other pets awaiting sale free, he has kept the gleaming silver key on a thread around his neck as a reminder. A reminder of what it meant to be free, what it felt like to be lost, and why he still kept going, day after day, after day, when everything he once knew was lost and gone forever...

Pidge Name: Rickshaw Sales
Short History:
Rickshaw was born and bred a racing pigeon for human sport. It was for this sport that he lived out most of his life.

Eventually, an incident involving a certain key made him seek a new life, and he found his way to Big Ma's flock.

Personality:
Because he spent a good portion of his life among Pigeons he could not talk openly with, Rickshaw is a little more reserved with his words than most Pidges, speaking little more than is necessary, struggling somewhat to hold conversation which it is his duty to maintain or initiate. That is not to say that he is a shy bird: merely inexperienced in the nuances of interaction. Whilst Rickshaw will not wriggle his way from a conversation, he will quickly become bored with it if he finds it lacking in some display of intelligence, a trait he craves to find in all Pidge. That is not to say he holds some kind of superior intellect: his knowledge is relatively limited, other than being 'well-travelled' for a Pidge from his racing days he isn't some nerdy brainbox and finds incomprehensibly complex thoughts just as boring as incomprehensibly simple ones.

Rickshaw is a curious bird, and can not shake his fascination with the inventions of the wingless ones, for all he now distrusts them.

Because of his training as a racing pigeon, Rickshaw keeps himself in good shape, and believes in the honour of heeding the call of duty. He will often go out of his way to provide aid without complaint. Rickshaw often feels restless if he is not fulfilling some purpose or other, and this restlessness may often be annoying to others.

Whats with that key of his?:

He didn't have a name, none of them did. He did not know of the names the wingless ones gave him, for the noises they made were unintelligable, and among the other birds such things were unnecessary. He simply was.

Ever since he was old enough to flap his wings, he knew that he was different from the rest of the flock. There was something subdued about them, something lacking, as though they were content with their lot and not about to ask for seconds, could not even grasp the idea of seconds; of something more, outside and beyond the bubble of routine that was their world. They were without an invigoration to life, so that even though they bobbed and burbled and noisily beat their wings in a territorial squabble over the food bowl, it was as though they didn't truly -live-, they didn't have that... that spark, that flare of awareness, of intrigue. Could not express themselves in ways that he was forever trying to.

But he, knowing nothing else but these birds and their shared existence, thought that that was simply how things were. When he felt isolated, unable to communicate with these seemingly stupid creatures, who were like him in all other respects, he used to pretend that they were just like he, full of words but unable to speak in ways that could be heard. As many moults passed, his eager young desires were subdued as well, and he relenquished much of his self-awareness in mimicry of those around him. He ate when he was hungry, drank when he was thirsty, and followed his inner instincts to return home each and every time he was released, just as he was trained.

There was but one thing that stopped his flame of intelligence from extinguishing altogether, and that was the strange antics of the wingless ones that kept him. The very same who made food appear and moved him from box to box, or threw him to the air. He would watch as they appeared to change skins every day, would do strange things with their many-pointed appendages, would hold and grasp and turn and press at small and large objects alike. For reasons both mysterious and strange, unknown to him in his ignorance. Among the most fascinating of these often ritualistic movements were those involving some large, thin white sheets, that rustled as they were handled. On every side of these items were strange black marks, in various sizes, which the wingless ones would spend endless hours peering at. Much as he would have liked to, he could never fully investigate these antics, as they occurred within the brick aviary, separated by a short distance from his own, the activity within of which he could only scrutinise for grace of its entrance; an invisible wall which had to be pushed against before it was traverseable. While such a thing puzzled him, he was thankful to it and the view it allowed, for it was those small glimpses of the wingless ones' life that broke the monotony of his chicken-wire walls, his fellow pigeons, and the sky above him. Those unusual occupants of the brick aviary were the only stimulation that kept his intrigue alive. Kept him from losing himself entirely in the mindset that occupied the heads of his fellows.

One day, something unusual happened, something that broke the routine that had imprinted itself so fiercly upon the occupants of the chicken wire aviary. After the wingless ones put a returned flier back inside the aviary, usually the door was closed, and locked by turning a small silver key which is then taken by the wingless ones as they leave. However, this time, after closing the door the wingless ones were distracted, and left without even turning the key, let alone removing it. While the wingless ones seemed unaware of their negligence, disappearing into the depths of the brick aviary, he was very aware. He fluttered over to the door, and pushed it open with the side of his body. He paused to look as his fellows: none of them showed interest in his actions. To them, it was simply another wall that only the wingless ones had the power to break through. This has been established, and so was unchanging. Even as one of their fellows stood free of its restrictions, they trusted that which had been established. He looked upon them, and pitied them for their indifference.

He was not planning to escape: such a thought was alien to him, since he spent many hours unrestrained, and had plenty of opportunity to 'escape' before, and will likely have again. No, he ventures now from his place of safety merely because he was interested in the key. He wanted to see if he could use it, use it like the wingless ones did. He flew to the other side of the door, from which the key dangled, then, hooking his right foot into the wire to keep his position and beating his wings to keep him stable, he used his free leg to grapple with the small silvery device. It was difficult; he could not do it with the easy fluid motion the wingless ones could perform with their strange appendages, but he managed to turn it, to hear the click of inner mechanisms. For all the action was worthless with the door open as it was, he was excited by his success, felt his heart begin to flutter with the stirrings of some strange new feeling. He pecked at the small chord that was threaded through a hole in the key, then tugged at it, yanking the object from the lock. Grasped firmly in his beak he fluttered back inside the aviary, he felt his chest swelling with pride at the results of his adventure, that he had been able to do something the wingless ones could do. He dared to wonder what they would do without their key. Their key that he had seized, all by himself. He pushed his head through the loop of cord, and tucked his prize into the underside of his wing so it could not be seen, and retreated to a corner of the aviary to ruminate over this odd event, and its likely consequences.

Eventually they came, and made exclamative noises over the half-opened door. Whilst he had no way of knowing, these noises signified that the wingless ones believed it musn't have been closed properly when it was locked, slipping open in the wind, and that it was a good thing none of the pigeons had escaped. A small search followed, he watched them poking around the hay for the missing key, smug in his knowledge that they would never think to search him for it, but as it could not be found, they twined a piece of silver metal around the cage door to lock it, and disappeared once more.

Once again, as the wingless ones vanished from view he felt that odd stirring within him. He, by his own self, had changed the world around him! In some small way he had inspired difference. Pride rose within him, and in the farce of preening, he looked at the small scrap of silver that occupied his under-wing. Maybe he could change more things. Maybe he could find something else. Do something else... the world was his sack of grain to nibble at.

But within a few days, a new small silver key appeared, identical to his own, to replace the makeshift lock and to return things to their normal turnings. His disbelief was immense. How could those wingless ones find another just like it? How? How could his life return to its regular shape so... unimpressively? So discretely override the riskiest triumph of his life as if it was nothing more than an odd coloured seed in the feeding bowl that is flicked away by a hungry pigeon raking through its food? How... trivialised, it made his adventure. How worthless it made the outcome.

It was then, that he learnt something about the wingless ones. He learnt that the wingless ones could always find a replacement. He had long noticed that his fellows would disappear, a few at a time, and others would take their place, but it hadn't occurred to him that it was anything but a tragic loss and a surprising, coincidentally timed addition. He realised that these wingless ones did not truly care for the things they lost: they moved on, and found clones. Everything was exchangeable, everything could be replaced. No one individual ever really mattered.

With these realisations, he chilled. He pained and felt it to the very honeycomb lattice of his bones. He had thought, in some small ways, that he had purpose. That, for reasons admittedly unshared with him, he had been removed from his cage and bidden back to it in his release to achieve some goal, to serve the wingless ones in some way that no other bird or odd machine could, to fulfil some unique role that only he could perform. But this key, this key and its consequences, had made him realise that he wasn't. That it was he that flew and not others was some whim of circumstance. His existence... was meaningless. Each of his journeys, braving weather, and lands unknown to him, all in the name of this hidden duty, were nothing but flights of fancy. Desolation filled him, stronger than anything, as he fully realised his circumstance, the path he had been so blindly following. He felt hallowed, the small key and the curse of its revelation, hung heavy against his breast.

The next time he was released, he did not return. He flew in the right direction until the wingless ones were far from his sight, then wheeled in the air and chose a new route, far from the home he had known so long. Far from the brick aviary and the wingless ones it contained, the wingless ones that had used him, had betrayed his belief of worth. He did not know what he would find, but he knew he could not rest until he found new meaning to replace this void within him.

What he found, in the end, was Big Ma. And in his encounter with her, he realised he was not the only one like himself. Here were others--who called themselves Pidge--who understood every word he spoke. He felt gratitude, coupled with weariness, overwhelm him as Big Ma welcomed him to the flock with open arms.

"But now, Big Ma doesn't know what to call you" She said, "Speak up now, give us your name"

"Name?" He had... no name.

"Yes that's right, something to call you by. It can be anything."

He hesitated, but then he remembered. He remembered the fascinations of his early life, thos strange sheets of white, once or twice the marks had been big enough for him to interpret, and tentatively, he uttered two that he had made out, surrounded in zig zaggy lines and highlighted:

"Rickshaw Sales"

"Well Rickshaw Sales, welcome to Big Ma's flock"

And that was it. That was the beginning of his life in Big Ma's flock, the end of his racing for the wingless ones. He was Rickshaw Sales now, among others like him. Really like him, in ways that he had sought to diminish to fit in better with his fellows of the chicken wire aviary. He kept the key, that was looped still around his head, that he had successfully kept hidden this whole time, as a momento, to ever remind himself of the nature of the wingless ones. To remind him of that coldness they posessed, as cold as the metal of the key, for all the incredible things they could create.