#all children take on the appearance of a precocial chick fluffy adorable

[cauldron-of-oddities]

Family fluff for the owl and the crow. And a little bit of background.

Powder has a nightmare and tries to distract herself back to sleep with the mundane noises at the bar. Only it seems having a fright can make things a bit more hairy, or should I say featherd?

Feather-tales

Powder feels small, unable to do anything, of being too scared and confused to do anything. The air around her is red and orange tinted and chokingly thick. She can hear shots and screams, though there's no one to be seen on a bridge that stretches out endlessly. She reaches out for Vi's hand only to grasp at nothing and then trip over an unseen edge and fall towards the wine red water below. Her heart clenches, and she goes icy cold with fear. She wants to, no, needs to fly! But her wings don't come. She's far, far too young to change. Powder tears her eyes open as the icy water hits her, and the darkness surrounds her. Hiccuping and gasping for breath, she wakes. A nightmare.

It isn't long before the first sniffle and another escapes her. She sits up, draws her knees to her chest, and leans her head on them, hoping to muffle her crying. She's seven, she's too big to be crying over nightmares, or so she tells herself. Powder wraps her arms around her head and tries to do as Vander told her. Focus on what's there, what's real.

She's in her bed, the fabric scratchy and smelling of soap, a single crystal hangs above her head, glinting in the sliver of light coming through the creak in the door. Vi is softly snoring above her in the bunk bed. Focusing on the crystal, she tries to think of all the different colours she wants. Her breathing finally evens out, and she lies back down, closing her eyes only for dreads cold fingers to creep back in.

Giving up, she crawls out of bed and up the ladder to her sister. “Vi?” Her sister rolls towards her with a mumble, and Powder feels hopeful for a moment that she'll get a hug, and maybe then sleep will come again. And then Vi lets out the most horrendous snore and almost smacks her with a flailing arm. Her sister's too far into lala-land, waking her from a sleep this deep is close to impossible. Powder decides to pick up her blanket and huddle back beside Vi, her sister being there would at least make feel safer.

Back in her own bunk, she wraps her blanket around her like a cloak as she hears the noise from the bar quieting down but still present. Biting her lip, she considers another option. If Vander was wrapping up, maybe she could sit with him for a bit, and she could maybe have some sweet milk. Yeah, that'd be ok. Mind made up, she tiptoes up the stairs.

The bar is dimly lit, and half the lights have already been turned off. In one of the booths, three people remain. Hunched over a game of cards.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Vanders voice is hushed, a worry line forming on his forehead.

She climbs up one of the barchairs and fiddles with her hair, the ghost of her dream running its icy fingers up her spine. “Can't sleep.” she mumbles out eventually.

Vander rubs his beard as he takes her in. He must see something because all he does is give a thoughtful hum. “Bad dream?” She nods. “Alright, you can stay for a bit."

She slumps relieved onto the counter. While sleep sounds like the most horrible idea in existence, her body is tired, and staying upright is far too much effort. The mundane noises of card shuffling, a glass clinking and being set down, and Vanders soft off tune humming slowly lulling her back to sleep. Probably as he intended. Maybe it would be ok to close her eyes now.

With a deep breath, Powder relaxes, and it is at that precise moment that moment the door bangs open and she startles. Tumbling, falling from the barstool, the sensation calling back the icy water, reaching up to her. Only there's no cold. She's cradled in warm, large, dark hands, and she sees Vander looking over the bar with a panicked expression.

“Hey there, little one.” It's softly spoken with a warm tone to it. “Now little one, seems you've gone and shifted before you're meant to. No worries, it happens.” The man directs the statement both at her and Vander.

By the open door, a drunken man stands, takes in the sight before him, and with a slured "I really am plastered, can't be right..." stubles back out. Vander lets go of the breath he's been holding and turns towards the patron who broke her fall.

“Thank you, Wyeth.” Vander mumbles, he looks completely stumped, and why is everyone so big? Vander brows practically form a single one with how he’s frowning. It can't be good if he's doing that. Panic starts to take hold of her.

Wyeth chuckles. “It's not unheard of, but it is rare for a kid to shift. She just needs to calm down, and she'll shift back, the magic sometimes hiccups.”

“Hmmm.” Vander doesn't sound convinced. Wyeth carries on. “Inna looked up everything to watch out for when we had our boy. Sometimes, when a kid's dealing with big emotions, the magic sparks, and to keep them safe, they shift.”

Shift? She changed?! Powder starts flailing about her little wings buzzing and tries to shout, but all that comes out are a series of squeaks and peeps. Oh no, oh no! She'd wanted to shift in her dream, and now she has, but she's still too small, utterly useless. Her heart is going the rate of a hummingbird.

“There, there, little one.” The voice of the man holding hervdrops to a hush, and he moves a finger to pet her over the head. It is soothing. The warm hand feels secure. When she's calmed a little, she feels a quick bit of vertigo as she's gently handed over to Vander's hands. She curls up in them, not just secure, but the safety of familiarity as well.

“Cute fluffy little thing you are.” Another chuckle from Wyeth. His gentle demeanour helping her calm down. Breathing steady again, she takes in her situation again. Spirits, everyone's so big. A bird, she's a chick.

She must be cute, though, she concludes, finally calm enough to think again, as the other two have joined at the bar and are practically cooing over her. Vi would have such a giggle at that. Vander turns to her rescuer, with an expression that screams just how out of his depth he feels. “Did your boy ever shift?”

“Nah, the kid’s far too chill. He's about her age, so who knows, though? And he's usually far too busy tinkering.”

Now Vander is looking at her again. “A tinkerer, huh?” Wyeth laughs before speaking.

“You'll probably see him around, Benzo took him in as an apprentice a few weeks ago.” Wyeth looks to Vander and then the others before quickly settling the tab and ushering the others out.

Before he leaves, he tells Vander. “Maybe tell a story? Calms most kids right down.” Powder decides she likes her fall breaker because something to distract her would be nice. She peeps in what she hopes, and it sounds like affirmation. “A story?” Vander still looks as stumped as he was before. “Hmmm, let's get a bit more comfortable first.”

He sets about folding and tucking her blanket into a little nest and places her in it. It's comfy, and she nestles in. Vander quickly locks up and gingerly scoops up the entire nest and heads to his room.

Vanders room is fairly bare, one double bed, plain sheets, two pillows above the bed is a shelf, two books, a bottle of what she knew was better whiskey than what's in the bar. By it was an ornate ashtray and feather attached to a leather band hanging over the edge and gently swaying in the draft of the undercity from the open window.

From her new perch on one of the pillows, Powder tilts her head with an inquisitive squeak. “Ah sorry Pow, I'm no storyteller. Give me a moment to think.” He sits down on the side of the bed and reaches up, stroking the long black oil slick glinting feather. “Sometimes I miss your flair for the dramatics and telling a tale.” He tells it.

“Feathers…” He trails off. “How we got our feathers.” She cheeps happily and loudly for that. It's a good tale of how, despite Piltover's oppression, they have one secret, one freedom those Pilities will never know or have.

“Alright, alright. Message received.” He's looking less worried now as he launches into the tale.

“Once Zaun was called Oshra Va'Zaun the great harbour city, and it prospered. However, with such wealth, there would always be those for whom it would bever be enough. Greed led to tragedy.

For they had the people dig and dig and dig until the ground weakened until the banks of the river could no longer hold until the south city rumbled and sank.”

He looks to Powder to see if she's alright. She ruffles a bit and hopes her message of ‘carry on with it,’ is understood. It luckily is.

“As the waters flooded, many were swept away, the goddess heard the cries. Janna came down in a great gust of wind and pushed the waters back, but many were trapped. The only way out was the sky, and so Janna took the form of a bird in blue light. Abd all who had been trapped in the depths in that moment changed form. Where there were arms, there were wings, where there had been feet there were talons, where there was skin there were feathers. All changed to a bird."

She thinks to herself that her favourite bit is the blue light. There's magic to the colour and she too is blue. She doesn't notice herself changing back, too involved in the story for the moment. She crawles under Vanders arm and onto his lap. “And then? You have to finish the story!” It's said with a petulant pout.

“Yes, well, you're going to have to let me speak then.” He sounds relieved.

“So relieved was Janna that her gift had worked, she left the magic with the people of Zaun. And so angry was she at those who brought such harm they would never know the gift granted to the Zaunites, this boon was ours alone, to fly free to join her on the winds."

As he finishes the tale, Powder lets out a great yawn. She feels sleepy, and it's good sleepy now. She's already half dozing as Vander picks her up with a soft chuckle.

“Off to bed with you."

“Okay…” Another yawn marks the word. And then because she's curious, even through her exhaustion. “What was I?"

“I couldn't tell, but you were very cute. A little powder ball of fluff.” That has her giggling. Vander makes his way quietly to her and Vi's room. The door creaks open softly, and a moment later, she feels her pillow beneath her head, a hand run over her hair and her blanket settle over her.

She nuzzles into her bed, and through sleep-lidded eyes, she sees Vander look thoughtful. “I have some errands tomorrow, I'm dropping by a friend for some supplies. And it seems he has an apprentice now about your age, and he likes to tinker too. Would you like to join me?” That sounds like a nice idea. She nods bearly aware. The last thing she hears before drifting off is Vander whispering “Goodnight, let the good dreams take flight.”

Other The Owl and Crow stories.