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(([NPC] post only. This only serves to move the story forward and requires no replies unless stated otherwise.))

“Prepare yourself!” Beads of sweat formed on the little man’s brow as he took a few awkward steps back to stand beside a covered birdcage set upon a tea table. “For you’re about to witness the return of nature’s most beloved treasures. Coveted by man for its unique plumage, it was thought to be poached into extinction. But not so! Deep in the jungles of Suertha, scientists have discovered a small revival in the species.”

In spite of the dealer’s attempts to build up the moment, Morgan De Luca remained unmoved. He fixed the little man with his unnaturally blue eyes until the man’s shoe-brush mustache trembled from the intensity of the stare. Inexperienced, Morgan decided--everything from the stringy comb-over to the cheap, sweat-stained suit screamed inexperience. As if that wasn’t enough, the man’s hands had come down with a distracting fit of the shakes. Their phone conversation the other day told a different story: the little man seemed brimming with confidence; today, it was clear that he’d never conducted such a deal before. If the bird wasn’t such a rarity, Morgan wouldn’t have even bothered with this nonsense.

Morgan rose out of his seat and buttoned up his frock.

“Spare me the bells and whistles, Mr. Bixby, and just show me the bird.”

Blushing with embarrassment, Mr. Bixby nodded and turned toward the cage, pausing just a moment to pull a dingy handkerchief from inside of his pocket and wipe his brow. Then, with all the flourish of a novice showman, he whipped the satin cover off the cage. Taken in by the creature behind the gilded bars, Morgan rounded his desk and approached the tea table with an easy saunter, until he stopped a few inches from the cage and peered at the small dandelion puff of a bird hopping about its perch.

The silence thickened until Morgan tore his gaze away from the cage and fixed it on Mr. Bixby once more: “Well? Aren’t you supposed to be selling it?”

“ ‘S-selling it’?”

Morgan sighed.

“The bird. Tell me about the bird.”

“O-oh! Of course.” Mr. Bixby cleared his throat and adjusted his polyester tie in a poor attempt to appear more scholarly. “Well, as I was saying scientists have discovered a revival in the species in the Suertha’s jungles. The albino chuppa-puff sparrow is--”

Barely into his pitch, a knock at the door interrupted Bixby. With his attention still on the sparrow, Morgan bid the visitor to enter. The door opened and a butler, with a stylized undercut and stern countenance, entered carrying a slim communicator on a silver tray.

“Forgive me for the interruption, sir--but you have an urgent phone call.”

Turning away from the cage and little man without so much as a word of excuse, Morgan picked the device off the tray and brought it to his ear. “Good news, I hope.”

“Yes, sir. We’re ready to move forward with the welcoming committee.”

Morgan smiled and turned toward the cage again. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be in touch once everything’s in place.”

Returning the communicator on the tray, Morgan nodded at the butler. “Thank you, Williams. Stand by if you would.” Then he flicked a glance a Bixby. “Please, do go on.”

Bixby continued, his confidence shattered once again, and rattled off random facts about the creature he’d stolen to make a quick, easy buck. (His efforts would be in vain; Morgan knew everything there was to know about the species.) As the little man painted an awkward picture of the chuppa-puff’s mating rituals, Morgan opened up the cage and coaxed the bird into his hand; the bird itself seemed entranced by the ring on Morgan's finger. With the bird free from its prison, it could be admired in all its tiny glory. Each plume maintained its down-like appearance even through adulthood; rather the real transformation happened with the color, starting off as a dull gray then gradually lightening to an off-white with opalescent sheen. Chuppa-puffs were called the living jewels of the jungle. It was no wonder they were captured by the hundreds for their feathers. What Morgan held in his hand was the real deal.

“Mr. De Luca, the chuppa-puff…”

Morgan could hear the strain in Bixby’s voice. Raising his finger to his lips, Morgan quietly shushed the little man before clicking his tongue at the little bird. The puff clicked back and responded to the attention by nuzzling its head against the pad of Morgan’s finger. It happened all too quickly: Morgan’s hand quickly went over the bird’s head and gave it a sharp twist. There was a faint pop, then he was beckoning for Williams to come forward.

“Now then, Mr. Bixby”--depositing the bird’s body onto the tray with the communicator, Morgan turned to face the horror-struck dealer--“I believe you wanted cash.”


From the window, Morgan De Luca watched Mr. Bixby scurry down the driveway toward his car. Their eye met briefly, but Bixby immediately set his sights for the gate.

“Williams, how are we on supplies?”

“Rather low, sir.”

“Well then, we shouldn’t let this opportunity slip from our fingers, now should we? It’ll save us a trip to town.”

“Very good, sir.” Williams left Morgan’s side for a moment then quickly returned with a rifle in his hands. Throwing the windows open, the butler raised the rifle and peered into the scope; Bixby’s dumpy figure was just inches from the gate when Williams caught him in the cross-hairs. With swift efficiency, he pulled the trigger.