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Backdated to before Pandora's Box ORP.
Word Count: 1098
Clay looked all about the house with great paranoia before shutting the sluder door. He didn't want to hold a serious discussion where his roommates might overhear him. Especially Ildri, he supposed - he didn't want her knowing that he liked to talk to his pigeons after he got home from a long day of work and bullshit. Hell, she thought he was weird for keeping pigeons, but never thought it weird that he raised them to eat them. Though people did that with cows and chickens and s**t, but Clay guessed that most people would probably think of pigeons as pets before they considered them livestock.
But that didn't matter now - he confirmed that he was alone. So with the sliding door to the balcony now shut, and he had glanced down below for any wandering eavesdroppers, Clay crouched in front of the pigeon enclosure to look at the dozen or so creatures inside. He never named them, so when he spoke to them, he addressed the whole. Each pigeon danced about from fake twig to fake twig, a few eyeing him while most flocked to the front of the closure while expecting food. And dispense food he did - by pouring a small handful of millet seed into their feeder trays. Naturally this sent Clay's pigeons into a frenzy, and he realized then that the birds won't be paying him much heed anymore.
Though maybe that was for the better. Pigeons couldn't talk, he was pretty sure, but he met some cats that could and that left him worried. If they didn't pay attention, they couldn't rat on him to someone else later. Pigeons were rats with wings, after all. He supposed they would rat him out.
"So uh," he began, staring dumbly at the cage, "I got this problem." He waited, as if expecting some kind of answer, but none came. The birds focused heavily on their food with no interest in the man who dispensed it. Strangely, this brought a sense of relief. "And it's a weird problem. No joke. This s**t's totally whack. Like completely outta this world. Like nerdy comic book level of weird." It was a start, he supposed. The birds still frenzied over their millet treat and nearly lapsed into fighting each other for the bulk of the meal. His secrets were safe. "And I'm gonna tell you about it but I need you to be cool. Like, don't tell anybody. Not even your other pigeon friends. Just be cool. Don't say s**t. Snitches get stitches, aight? Actually, snitches get dead. Remember that.
"So one day I was mindin' my own s**t in a dressing room, and this hot b***h comes up outta the mirror and says to me, 'yo, Clay, you got some fine duds there, but Imma give you some better ones.' And then her p***y talked to me. Like, her cat. And it said I had potential or some s**t. So they walk me through this damn mirror and I go through this other one and bam, I look totally different. Like I fell straight outta a ******** fantasy book. Ain't that some s**t?" He paused again, though the birds continued eating. Paranoia came over him like a pall once more, and Clay struggled to shake it off. If someone heard him now, what would they think? Would they know what he was talking about? Clay couldn't say for certain.
"I was real cool with it at first. She just dumped some badass powers straight into my lap, yanno? Who wouldn't be down for that s**t? And I felt pretty ********' fly the first few weeks like, I could jump whole buildings. They don't make earth pads that dope for normal people. And then I found out I had these kickass powers where I could make dust outta nothin' and throw it in people's eyes. And there's whole other planets out there, like for real. Like you can visit them and s**t. And breathe on 'em. And turn them into like, your pad where you and your homies hang out. I was totally down for that s**t. I want a hangout for my gang, you know? Homies need a place to be.
"And at first, I was tight with all of it. Like this." He held up crossed fingers for the birds to see, but the pigeons long finished the seed and returned to flogging the cage door for more food. "But then I started to realize that I didn't have any homies. Any. Like none. Zip, zero, nada, zilch. Not one ********' homie in the history of homies. And I figure the whole point of a Court is to have homies. Like what kinda ******** up s**t is that? Who joins a gang that doesn't have homies? So now I'm stuck lookin' at this s**t like, why do I gotta go doin' the b***h work of draining energy for these assholes when I don't get any ********' homies outta it? Who does that s**t? I ain't no b***h. Do I look like a b***h to you?" The birds continued beating themselves against the front of the cage. "******** no, I don't.
"So now I'm stuck with this s**t. We gotta do this energy draining s**t so we can keep our powers basically, and there ain't no point to having ********' powers if I don't got people to back me up. I met maybe three of these ********, like I can't even fill up my ********' hand. We must be the tiniest gang ever, or the joke's on Clay and he's getting used like a condom. So I'm like, there's gotta be a way outta this. Either I ******** up something fierce and I missed all the right places to look for these bitches or I need to go find my own damn homies way the hell outta this Court. It's been over a year and I got like nowhere in this s**t. So I'm gonna start lookin' for an out." He nodded affirmatively at his birds.
"I know people beat the ******** outta traitors on the streets, but these ain't the streets. No one talks big game around here, so if I'm gonna bounce, they won't be doin' s**t. And I'm gonna be steppin' into a better gang, one that got people, and the Court ain't gonna say s**t back. I got this. Yeah," he fist-pumped the air, "I got this. I'm gonna show those bitches that Clay ain't no b***h." He stood then, threw the cover back over his pigeon coop, and started back inside.
