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usuknetwork · 7 years ago

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USUK Christmas Countdown 2017: December 13

Title: The Song of a Heart Day 1: Music Summary: It’s almost Christmas. Arthur is deaf and is given a chance to restore his hearing, but little does he know that a certain street performer knows exactly what he’s going through. Rating: T, for mild language Warning: Angst, Comfort

(Written by: @birb-draws and Art by: @lily-clare)

The wind whistled sharply down the narrow London alleyways, ushering people into their homes and sending their windows flying shut; anyone caught outside was given a fierce reminder of what was yet to come. Winter had arrived and thick pools of slush were already piling in the dips of the pavement, promising children a lousy upcoming Christmas with not enough snow to roll around in.

Up ahead, the distant ringing of bells seemed to beckon very few brave souls out of their houses and into church, but to some it only seemed as though people were emerging from their warm homes for no particular reason...

Arthur didn't hear the bells. He didn't hear the windows slamming shut. He didn't hear the howling wind. He didn't even hear the sound of his own footsteps.

He heard nothing.

It was like an emptiness had invaded his ears, won the battle and stood guard, scaring off any noise that dared to pass by. Perhaps Arthur couldn't hear, but he could feel. He felt all the slightest touches of the wind as though it had weaved its way through his skin and buried itself into his bones.

Ever since the British student turned eight and onwards, all of his senses had become more susceptible, but one of them less so. Whatever had affected him hadn't exactly been for the best, some would say, since the poor blond had lost all traces of his hearing. Eventually, he had grown tired of people pitying him; telling him how everything was going to be alright even though there wasn't much of a problem to begin with. It's not like he was on the verge of death, so why over-exaggerate? His family would always make such a big fuss, and whenever a problem would arise, they'd bring up his complication and use it to defend themselves. Something like 'my son's deaf, you can't say that' was a pretty popular choice among his ménage.

At first, waking up to complete silence and watching your mother mouth mute words was a scary experience, but after a few months or so it became a routine for the scrawny blond, though it did take a while to get used to his flashing alarm clock, specified for people with similar problems.

It was as though he was all alone in this world... No one would treat him the same as they used to. There were more of those stupid fake smiles being thrown around him, more of the people who'd help him with even the most simple of acts as though he had not only lost the ability to hear, but to play out basic tasks too. He wasn't stupid, he was simply deaf.

Arthur breathed out a long and slow breath, his eyelids drooping midway as he watched the hot fog emit from his mouth and fade into the air around him.

He understood people were just being nice, so why not take the hint when he'd insist he could take his own plate back to the kitchen rather than have four people offer to do so? He was sick and tired of it, being treated like a child. The urges he'd get to scream and shout at people to stop driving him insane were always unbearable, but could he do it? What a silly question...

I'm eighteen, for God's sake, Arthur thought to himself with his signature frown playing on his lips. And I'm so lost...

Wrapped up in thick layers of clothing, Arthur pulled his crimson red scarf farther up his face, just enough to cover his pale lips. What have I become?

Whether or not he'd ever find the answer to that question was beyond him.

Who was he?

The journey to the grocery store was taking a reasonable time judging by the displeasing weather. Usually it was quite difficult to tread through thick layers of snow, but with a bit more willpower to get to a warm shelter much sooner than later, Arthur seemed to have shortened that period pretty drastically.

With rosy, flushed cheeks and minuscule snowflakes setting on his lashes, the Brit just about managed to pick his way correctly through the vast expanse of pure white.

Turning on a sharp corner, the blond felt a familiar sensation tingling in the air... It felt like music. A steady, perhaps a bit out-of-tune, beat weaving its way through the cold city. As he neared the source of vibrations in the air, Arthur's eyes found themselves set on a man - huddled a little way by the entrance of a store - in rags and seated on a few pieces of long, thin cardboard.

Peering a little closer, the Brit was able to catch a glint of blue from beneath those constantly squeezing shut eyes with every strained note the other seemed to be singing. At least, that's what Arthur expected he was doing. A few golden strands of hair had protruded from under his wooly hat and framed the stranger's face very, very nicely.

At the sight of Arthur, the man slowly came to a stop, his fingers ceased their movement on the guitar he held in his hands, and he peered up at the Brit expectedly through his thick bundle of clothes, just as he always did.

Yes, this street performer was no exact stranger to Arthur. Over the course of a few weeks of moving into his flat, Arthur tended to take this route throughout the week to get to his favourite (and closest) store which of course was always accompanied by this... Man.

Arthur had never even taken the moment to learn his name. It was quite a simple world, really; you threw a coin or two into a beggar's hat and ignored them in any other situation you'd see them in. But, for Arthur, his world was a little different... He was very much aware of the hardships in life - especially in this dreadful weather - and was more than willing to help a guy out. Of course, he hoped this blond wasn't spending his money on drugs or alcohol, and instead on real necessities like access to food and water.

He could never be sure, although this performer did seem very promising.

Despite the rather huge lack of savings the other would get for each of his performances, Arthur still continued to give him some change whenever he got the chance.

In fact, that thought lead him to wondering as to why exactly this man didn't get much money? The Brit had seen other street musicians with twice as many hats full to the brim of notes and shiny coins. So why didn't he?

Arthur huffed from under his thick scarf, feeling the heat vanish against the red material almost as soon as it appeared. He furrowed his brows somewhat at that eager look the other seemed to taunt him with before plunging his hand into his pocket and fishing out a five pound note. He leaned forwards, having to bend a little, so the 'stranger' could take his offering.

The blue-eyed man reached forwards, his fingers brushing against Arthur's own whilst he took the note. A giddy smile began to bubble amongst his lips whilst he excitedly traced his thumb and index finger over the thin piece of paper, peering rather intently at it for a while.

Soon after that brief moment of contact, the shorter of the two quickly withdrew his hand back towards his own chest, rubbing both of them together as if to warm them up. Arthur noted that the other's hands were (oddly enough) quite warm compared to his own - especially in this dreadful weather... He cleared his throat and let the familiar vibrations against the skin on his neck distract him for a moment, his gaze averted towards the store just a little ways ahead of him.

I should go... What am I doing, wasting time? Arthur took a step away from the other, sending him a curt, acknowledging nod before taking a couple more steps towards the store.

That was, however, until he felt a sharp tug pull him back to where he last stood. Instinctively turning on his heel, Arthur stared incredulously at the other blond, wanting so desperately to ask what on Earth his problem was. He couldn't. For a heartbeat, they each stood in an uncomfortable silence, just staring at each other as if they hadn't even a word to say. Arthur was close to fuming and marching off in the way he was supposed to be headed, but was unexpectedly caught off guard when the street performed released the fabric of his coat and his lips began to form words. The movement of his mouth seemed slightly off, and Arthur struggled to keep up with what he was saying - which he deemed to be quite strange considering he had nine whole years to practise and master lip reading…

Instead, the Brit arched a curious brow, staring at the man's lips the hardest he could. He could make out a few words, but it was difficult to piece them together, and so he merely linked it with the closest reason as to what the beggar could have meant. He had given him money just now, hadn't he? That must be what it was. Something like a 'thank you' of sorts.

Arthur sent him an off smile, dipped his head in gratitude, and continued to walk off.

He didn't see him on his way back.

Arthur arrived home later than he had intended that day. After his encounter with the fellow in the streets, the Brit found it more difficult to navigate his way back to his house. Not only was he exhausted by the time he got there, but pretty cold too. Apparently, wearing a few layers of clothing didn't aid him as much as he had originally hoped it would. The blond stumbled around on his front porch, trying not to tread in any seemingly deep areas of snow to avoid getting any colder than he already was.

Coming to a stop at the door, the Brit rummaged in his pockets for a key.

Where is it, where is it...?

Without looking like too much of a fool, he finally managed to find the damn thing and was quick to shove it into the door's lock, twisting the small article in the uniquely designed hole and hastily pushing it open. Once inside, he shut the door yet again and let out a loud sigh of which he himself could not hear. The heat of his home came flooding to him in a warm greeting and at no point did it ever become even somewhat overbearing. If Arthur could, he’d embrace it right then and there. Shrugging off his coat, the short blond hung it on the hanger just by his head when his fingers lost their grip of the key and - after failing to grab it mid air - had to resort to looking for it on the floor. Arthur spluttered in annoyance and reached for the shining item, however, his eyes caught sight of something else instead, and he curiously reached for a light brown envelope laying beside the metal object.

Forgetting about the key that stayed isolated in its spot on the wooden flooring, Arthur carried the envelope towards the kitchen whilst continuing to inspect it carefully on his way there. Walking into the said room, the Brit pulled out a chair, settled down, and began to slowly tear away at the paper of the enclosed letter.

Once he had it opened, Arthur slowly tipped the contents of the envelope onto the kitchen table. His eyes widened at the sight of… He reached for the stack of money, fingers flipping through each individual note. Of a little over two thousand pounds?! Clasping a hand over his mouth, the Brit hurriedly reached for the letter that had fallen on the table along with the few thousand notes.

It read:

Dear Arthur,

I’ve been saving up for over a year now… You deserve this more than I do.

Please meet Dr. Yao on Monday at 8am at your local hospital. I want this to be a surprise, so he’ll tell you all about it. Don’t you dare forget to bring that money with you.

Talk to you soon,

Scott. SK

Arthur’s head was reeling. A doctor? Why on Earth would he need to see a doctor? And what was so important that he needed to bring with him so much money? Questions were flooding his mind by the minute, and Arthur eventually realised that he felt tired and deserved some much needed rest. Oh, God, what was Scott planning…

Monday, 7:45am.

Arthur was already dressed in sub-formal attire, downing the last of his tea and internally promising himself that no, it wasn’t burning his mouth, and yes, he was running late. He should have been registered in by now, and yet here he was, an eighteen year old deaf boy, pushing the time as if he was Superman.

Grabbing his keys from the kitchen table, Arthur hurriedly pulled himself away from where he sat, almost tripping over his chair in advance and hissing a silent gasp.

Outside, a taxi waited, honking its horn every few minutes, completely oblivious to Arthur’s condition.

What seemed like an eternity later, the door to the small house’s entryway flew open and Arthur briskly made his way out, shutting it behind him. Approaching the taxi, he signed ‘sorry’ whilst holding an apologetic smile - the solemn face of the man at the wheel couldn’t seem to care any less. Entering the vehicle, the Brit handed the man a note with the location of his local hospital of which he read it over and began to drive to said place.

Arthur buckled himself in and huffed, letting his head loll to the side and gently thump against the window. He stared blankly out at his surroundings, watching tiredly as houses, leafless trees, and a few people whizzed by. Briefly, he wondered what exactly he had gotten himself into... Whatever it was, Scott had worked hard for it (a few years for goodness sake!). He must have felt very strongly about this. He shouldn’t get his hopes up though; a trip to the hospital could either mean a good thing or a bad thing, there was almost never any in-between in such situations.

They drove by a store he was very familiarised with, where he noticed a figure who was poorly dressed strumming heavily at his guitar. A noise of amusement slipped past the Brit’s lips, recalling their last encounter. The driver on the other hand, rolled his eyes at the performer and promptly muttered something under his breath. For a moment, Arthur watched in silent thoughtfulness, his brows furrowing to an extent. He was tempted to ask if the taxi driver knew anything about the beggar, but alas could not. His speech was probably clumsy, and he doubted this guy knew how to sign, so where was the point in asking?

They arrived at the hospital within roughly ten minutes, meaning Arthur had only five to get registered and have his appointment. He quickly paid the taxi driver, scribbling out another note and asking for him to wait to which the man nodded, switched off the engine, and went on his phone whilst he waited. The smaller of the two double-checked that the money provided by his eldest brother was still in his pocket before leaving the safety of his car and making his way to the hospital facility.

The building was tall, many stories high in fact, but instead of wasting time feeling intimidated, the British teenager hurried indoors and towards reception.

He approached a petite woman who adjusted her glasses when he neared the desk. Her mouth began moving, and Arthur read her lips perfectly.

”Hello sir, may I have your name please?”

Right… Arthur stared blankly for a moment and motioned his name with a flustered expression, hoping she would catch on that he could, in fact, not hear.

The lady’s mouth formed an ‘O’ and she excused herself for a moment, returning later with a plump older man who gave Arthur a slight wave and signed, “What’s your name?”

Oh, an interpreter.

For the second time that day, Arthur told them his name. ‘Ar-th-ur Ki-rk-land.’

The man proceeded to tell the woman what he read and she began typing away at her computer. Arthur’s attention was back on the man who told him to “Sign this form, please”. He took the sheet of paper handed to him and wrote down all the necessary information it asked for before handing it back and watching as the woman skimmed over his writing.

The man asked, “Who will you be seeing?”

Arthur signed, ‘Dr. Y-a-o’.

The man translated to the lady once more who sent Arthur a sickly sweet smile and motioned towards the corridor. “You’re his only patient this morning, feel free to enter to him through the first door down the corridor on the right. Thank you.”

Arthur gave her a brief, appreciative nod and made his way towards where she had motioned. The corridor was mostly empty of people, but the walls were littered with vibrant posters with some consisting of facts or encouraging people to ‘use medication’. Though the place generally looked quite sterile, Arthur had read that despite the multiple health precautions (for example the amount of hand sanitizer dispensers at every door), hospitals were actually full of bacteria. Whether that was true or not wasn’t up to him to decide however, and he doubted scientists would look into it as if to give hospitals a bad reputation.

The blond brushed some hair from his face, watching as his shoes walked out in front of him. He wondered what sort of sound they made. Was it quiet? Or loud? Did they click or did they sound muffled? Arthur furrowed his brows in thought but was soon interrupted by coming face to face with the door described to him by the secretary. Glancing around for a brief moment, he finally reached for the knob, but just as he did, the door was already pulling itself open. Arthur stumbled back in surprise, but when the door continued to open wider and reveal a man in uniform, the smaller blond found his face flushing with embarrassment. For a moment he thought the damn place was cursed.

Raising a hand, he waved a greeting and Dr. Yao (thank goodness) gestured for him to come inside. Arthur slowly entered, taking a moment to look around. There were all sorts of gadgets organised around the room, ranging from big to tiny ones, and an uncomfortable looking - seemingly adjustable - bed lying against the wall. Arthur took a seat at it and fixed his gaze on the Asian who shut the door behind him and sat at a chair in front.

The doctor pointed towards his lips and began to mouth words slowly. Arthur caught on within seconds.

“I’ll speak slowly so you can read my lips.”

Arthur nodded.

“Latest technology allows us to do something very special,” he explained, brown eyes boring into forest greens.

“Do you want to be able to hear again?”

Arthur stared, frozen to the spot. What Dr. Yao said wasn’t something someone could say so easily. Arthur had gone through a lot of trouble being unable to hear, and all of a sudden he asked such a blunt, emotional question? He frowned, getting to his feet and signing, ‘What is this?’

The doctor stood with him, stepping forward and motioning back towards the bed. “Sit down, Arthur, let me explain.”

Arthur shook his head hastily; he wouldn’t allow himself to get mocked by such a man. He probably had all the privileges one could ever wish for - and yet Arthur had been deprived of a good job just for something so little that he had been stuck with for nine years. His actions were sharp. ‘Tell me to sit down one more time-’

The doctor started to look distressed. “Please, I know it’s a lot to take in. Look, your brother went through so much to allow you to do this.”

Arthur’s expression softened to an extent.

“Do it for your family, yes?”

Family. Family… He wondered what they were doing now, whether they actually still thought about him anymore. Scott did, sure, but maybe he did all this to get Arthur off his mind and to move on. The Brit glanced down sheepishly. He didn’t have any reason to do this. He was strong as he was, and was getting along just fine, but what about all the little things? It was true, he wanted to hear his brothers’ voices now that they’d grown. He wanted to hear his own footsteps. He wanted to hear the soft breeze on a beautiful day. He wanted to hear birds singing. He wanted to hear his breathing before he slept. He wanted to hear music.

Music…

Arthur cautiously made his way back to the bed. ‘Go on,’ he signed.

Dr. Yao smiled warmly, this time taking a seat beside his patient. He placed a hand on the Brit’s shoulder. “We can do this together. We’ll bring back your hearing- wouldn’t you like that? We’ll restore it as much as we can. You’ll be one of the first people to try this out, Kirkland. What do you say?”

With a bit more of that reassuring smile and the comforting hand on his shoulder, Arthur found his head moving, nodding. He waited for a moment and slowly signed, ‘I want to hear again.’

He hadn’t expected to say that, not now, not ever, and yet here he was.

‘I want to hear again,’ he repeated, tears welling up in his eyes.

The day had come for Arthur’s surgery. Dr. Yao had repeatedly explained to him how the procedure worked and what part of the ear they would be focusing on. He mentioned that there was a low chance of something going wrong, however if something within the operation did occur, then to not worry as he would get refunded for the amount he paid to get this treatment done and they would look into the issue and possibly try again.

Arthur breathed in and out in a chaste, nervous manner. His whole body was wracking with nerves and he had no idea how to feel about the whole ordeal. On one hand, he’d regain his hearing, whereas on the other he felt anxious about doing just that. He hadn’t been able to hear for nine years. Nine years. What if his body couldn’t take it? What if he embarrassed himself bursting out into tears in front of the whole team who would work so hard on giving him something he had once thought to have permanently lost?

The door to the hospital room was gently pushed open and Arthur rose his gaze a little less steadily than he had hoped for to meet with the man who entered.

Dr. Yao smiled, a glint in his eyes. “Are you ready?”

Arthur made a noise of unease and buried his face into his hands, shaking his head violently, but a simple tap on his arm was enough to coax him out of bed and soon enough out the door.

He was going to fucking hear again and there was no turning back.

Thursday.

It was cold outside, and the streets were even more empty than they had been days prior to this. Each day was getting colder, however… And each day it was harder to hold on, harder to keep on going. Pedestrians had become a thing of the past now, rarely ever seen. Each day, he’d awake thinking ‘I wonder how much longer until I die’ rather than ‘I wonder how much longer until Christmas’. He didn’t even know if it had passed yet, or how long it would be until it did. Regarding either option, would he be alive to ever know?

His fingers were like ice, and his once tan complexion was almost as pale as snow. It became harder and harder every time to play guitar and set a performance… He’d stop thinking about what chords came next and instead how hungry he felt, how cold he was, and dear God, how lonely, too. He supposed that’s why most people would ignore him; because he kept messing up the song?

He shuddered, a cold shiver running along his spine. He wondered how many doors he’d have to knock on asking for help until he dropped down dead. Not many, perhaps. He was already halfway gone, or at least, it felt like it.

The blond slowly picked up his instrument, pulled it to his chest, and let his fingers run free. They strummed and plucked, and with each vibration that ran along his fingers, he sang a part of a song he’d made up over the years.

He didn’t know how it sounded to be honest, but hopefully it was good.

Hopefully…

A figure in the distance was emerging through the fog and he promptly shifted his empty hat forwards as if to put it on show so the other knew what to do if or when they saw it. He internally wished they had a kind enough heart to spare some change.

When they neared closer, the performer could make out their features, and he felt a heavy weight lift off his chest. He ceased his song and expectantly held out his hand, grin widening.

Arthur stood in silence, listening. It had been two days since his successful surgery and with the help of some hearing aids to enhance his hearing, he had managed to restore quite a bit of it. It was a surreal experience, and it still was. In fact, this was his first trip outside after getting such a thing done! He was even getting language classes too to help him get back on track with proper speech. But this... This was all he had never hoped for.

It was heartbreaking to see a man suffering with the same problem he had carelessly spent over two thousand on, lying in the streets near Christmas time, near death... This performer needed what he had most, and yet he still selfishly spent it on himself. Arthur shook his head slowly, a saddened smile on his face. This beggar was deaf. His singing and guitar wasn’t exactly on point, which explained his lack of money. So did his slurred movement of his mouth the first time they had spoken. He was throwing out every sign he could think of, and yet Arthur stayed oblivious, too engrossed in his own ‘problems’.

The shorter blond carefully dropped to his knees and shuffled towards the other. He signed to him, ‘What’s your name?’

The beggar signed back, a little hesitantly, ‘Al-fr-ed’.

Rummaging in his pockets for a moment, the Brit pulled out some earphones and plugged them each into Alfred’s ears, his fingers gentle and warm against the taller man’s face. ‘Listen,’ he signed.

Alfred’s expression was a clear display of confusion. Arthur didn’t blame him. Since when did the deaf use earphones? He himself would have found it ridiculous.

The shorter of the two took the end of the cord and wrapped it around the man’s finger before pulling his hand over to lay on his chest. The steady thrumming of his heart could be felt through the American’s fingertips and they both knew it.

Alfred’s eyes were gradually growing wet with tears, possibly on the verge of a breakdown, but Arthur was there, and Arthur always would be.

Because sometimes, actions spoke louder than words.

And sometimes, music wasn't enough to express the true meaning of love.

#usuk #ukus #usukxmascountdown #day 1 #aph america #aph england

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blustersquall · 7 years ago

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Heya! I was just wondering if you, as my designated birb mom of Tumblr, would have any advice for a newbie looking into getting a feathered baby for themselves! I was looking most closely at conures, because I heard they're very personable, but I wasn't sure about aggression issues or anything like that. Budgies were the other option I was considering, but I wasn't sure if they were as people-crazy? I find it's good to ask someone whose had experience! Other than that, I hope you're doing great!

Hey Nonny,

Sorry for the delay in replying to this. It’s been a busy few days.

Anyway - I assume given you’ve been “looking closely” at getting a bird you understand the massive responsibilities involved. Responsibilities you get when you take on any animal but are somewhat harder with a bird because of their intelligence. And also because they are tamed, not domesticated, like cats and dogs. The term “bird brain” is seriously misleading. Make no doubt, even the smallest of birds are smart.

But, that’s not what you asked me about.

Having owned both budgies and a conure, I can tell you there are both good and bad points to them - as there are to every bird.

They both have a noise level. Luckily, Nyx isn’t a huge screamer, which is good as I live in a flat with people above, below, and to the side of me. I’ve never had any complaints. Budgies are… definitely more chatty, I would say. They’re almost constantly chattering away to themselves, and its a nice noise. Also, budgies can mimic and while conures can mimic to a certain extent - it’s not quite the same as a budgie, where you can hear the word.

Also, it comes as a given that birds will bite. Usually, it’s not to cause harm (because if they bite to cause harm you will know) and if they bite you it’s because you’ve done something to upset them. To them, you are a predator animal, but birds are pretty good at telling you when they’re at their limit. Nyx’s play nips can be pretty damn painful though, there’s a lot of power behind his beak. Whereas budgies are like a sharp pinprick of pain unless they latch on when they’re afraid or something. Then it hurt like getting your finger caught in a drawer.

I mean, I can’t really comment on aggression with Nyx because he’s never been aggressive with me, and he’s been introduced to plenty of people and been very friendly towards them, once he recognises they aren’t a threat. Snow, on the other hand, when it was just him and me, would dive bomb my ex when he came near me. He didn’t like him at all, I think he saw him as a threat as I’m pretty sure Snow saw me as his massive, featherless mate (given he used to regurgitate to me a lot). But with women he was fine. Never had any aggression towards them, so I’m not sure if he could tell the difference, or if he just really took a dislike towards my ex.

Budgies are not cuddly birds, I can tell you right off… Well, some are. If you hand raise them from a chick, but even then once they reach maturity there’s a chance they’ll grow a little less cuddly. Snow was very cuddly as a baby and would sleep on me and everything. But once he matured he didn’t do that so much. He would happily sit on my shoulder... and my hip... and my bum, preen me, and chat to me, but he didn’t nap as much on me.

Nyx is very cuddly. Our morning routine includes at least half an hour of head rubs and cuddles. He comes and asks for them all throughout the day when I’m home, sitting on my hands, stealing crochet hooks. If there’s something else occupying my hands when its cuddle time, it is challenged for attention until mine is squarely on him. He also often likes to come and sit next to my head on my pillow in the mornings before I get up properly (as I let him out of his cage around 7am). I’ve had to hide my hands under the covers when he does this because he’ll nip my fingers to get head rubs if I leave them uncovered.

You might have seen photos, or videos of conures hiding in their owner’s hair or their hoodie top or something. Some conures do this - Nyx does not. So I think that’s just dependant on the bird and their personality.

So… I can’t really tell you which is a better breed of bird to get. I love Nyx, just as I adored Snow. They very different birds, but they are wonderful companions. If you’ve done the research on conures, then I would go with a conure. They are wonderful characters, and very, very sweet. Just make sure you know exactly what you’re getting into. I spend no less than £50 a month on Nyx for food, toys, and supplies for his cage (not to mention vet costs when I take him). He is noisy, and he poops a lot. Plus you need to make sure you’re happy with the commitment you’ll be making. A well cared for conure can live, a minimum of 30 years. That’s not a short amount of time, so that’s something to keep in mind.

I’m sure you’ve thought all this through and done all the research. If any of this comes off as condescending, I apologise as that isn’t my intent. I’ve just read and heard too many horror stories from bird owners about the previous lives of the birds they now own that I think anyone getting a bird should do as much research and be as well informed as possible.

… And Nyx has just come onto my laptop for head rubs, so I must away. I hope this was helpful, at least a little, Nonny. Good luck on your bird hunt - I’d love to hear what you eventually choose.

#asks #replies #birds #bluster speaks #Anonymous

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bunnyandbirb · 7 years ago

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Bunny & Birb Talk Sharknado 5

Bunny and birb watched the new Sharknado movie together (as is tradition) and had some thoughts about it.

We came up with a few questions to answer:

Overall score

Favorite scene

Favorite line

Best death

Worst scene

Worst acting

Best cameo

Best scientific leap

Hopes for the next movie

Ranking of each movie in the series

So here we go:

1. Overall Score

Bunny: I think a 3/10 is probably where I would put this movie. It’s a terrible movie but not to the level of being considered art (See Birb’s post about Birdemic). A lot of it is just plain cringy and falls flat instead of being funny. Parts of it definitely felt like they were trying to0 hard without keeping the true feel of the other Sharknado movies.

Birb: I laughed, I cried, and then I died. Just kidding, it wasn’t that good. There were definitely a few one liners and absolutely ridiculous situations that give it a few points, but it’s not as impactful as it could have been. Overall 5/10

2. Favorite Scene:

Bunny: There’s a random scene when the film cuts to Finn’s other son (I think) trying to protect a mine from the storm. His grandfather asks if the storm is coming and the son says “Hang on let me check the Xfinity app”. It is the most blatant product placement I have ever seen and probably is the only product placement that almost worked on me because I was laughing so hard. It’s comedy gold.

Birb: Probably the one where April is trying to dissipate the Sharknado by spinning really fast (with her robot limbs) in the opposite direction. The way this is filmed is so awkward and her unconvincing screaming “aaaaaaaaaaaaah” seems like it lasts for twenty minutes. Also it makes no fucking sense lol

3. Favorite line Bunny: “Forgive me Father, for I am Finn”. Terrible. So terrible that it’s fucking hilarious. I stopped caring about the rest of the movie because I was so focused on that awful line. I want it tattooed. Just watch that line and ignore the rest of the movie.

Birb: The Xfinity app line probably made me laugh more than anything else in this entire movie, so I pick that one.

4. Best death Bunny: So it wasn’t the actual death itself but the after effect of the death. April’s death is supposed to be climactic, since she’s sacrificing herself and ends up exploding. Her bad screaming ruins the moment. But directly afterward, Finn cries while holding her disembodied head and then puts it in a bag and carries it around with him. Which is so ridiculous. There’s no other comment about it. He just has her head in a sack. Plus, I hate April so much that I was a little happy she died.

Birb: A British government guy and some woman were running from sharks when they randomly confess that they’ve both been in love with each other. Then the woman instantly gets eaten by a flying shark. That’s honestly the only death I can remember from this movie (though I think one of Fin’s family members also died?) so it was clearly the only memorable one for me.

5. Worst scene

Bunny: When April’s new look is revealed is definitely the worst after her body gets torn to pieces. She looks like Avril Lavigne’s old 2000s wardrobe threw up on her. So much pink, so much fake scene. And she’s supposed to be hot? It was so cringeworthy. There’s even an attempt at a Grease reference with “Tell me about it”, which is a reference to Sandy’s look overhaul at the end of that movie. But it is nowhere near the same. Sandy looked good.

Birb: Probably when Finn is giving his grand speech to the board of whatever, which was clearly a shoed-in scene that they made near the end of production. He drops the line “Back at home we’re trying to make America great again, but if you follow my lead we can make the world great again.” Groan.

6. Worst acting

Bunny: I think April’s acting was even worse in this movie than it normally is. There’s a moment when she’s holding a rope so Finn doesn’t fly into a sharknado and the whole time she’s just screaming. But it’s not even a good scream. It’s like the kind of scream you make when you know about the surprise party but you want people to think you didn’t. Really terrible.

Birb: Okay, so who can honestly say that anybody in this movie acted worse than April? Zero things that she said in this movie sounded convincing at all, and I’m pretty sure she only knows how to make 1-2 facial expressions.

7. Best cameo

Bunny: Easily the Tony Hawk cameo is the best one. Everything about it is so beautiful. The pure randomness of him showing up in Australia, helping an all-girl, shark battling group. The fact that he saves them with his skateboarding abilities. It might be a super throwback cameo (since he isn’t really relevant anymore) but it was wonderful to me.

Birb: Obviously The Hawk. They even made an entire fucking original theme song just for his minimal scenes in this movie. And he could have just run across the roof of the building but he chooses to skate instead - that’s commitment to the brand.

8. Best scientific leap

Bunny: The nuclear shark tsunami was probably the best. The visual of a tsunami of nuclear sharks transforming into one giant shark was so bizarre and confusing. I don’t even know why they were transporting so much nuclear material across the ocean in the first place. But the fact that someone decided this idea might make sense is really beautiful to me. And how everyone in the movie was like “Of course this happened. This makes perfect sense because science”.

Birb: Um… the fact that there are wormholes in Sharknados that transport you through time and space and nobody seems to be that surprised by this??

9. Hopes for the next movie

Bunny: I always want more cameos. That was something that really made the second movie so good. It’s hilarious to me that they can convince any actual celebrities to be in these movies and so the more, the better. I also hope Finn just carries April’s head around the entire time without bringing her back.

Birb: I really enjoyed the Xfinity shoutouts in this movie, and hope that they put more blatant product placement into their movie. I’m not kidding, I want it to happen. Can you imagine? Sharks wearing Hollister tees, drowning sharks in Coke Zero… I want capitalism to defeat the Sharknado threat.

10. Ranking of each movie Bunny: Sharknado 2 is my favorite since it was the first one plus a ton of celebrities. It also didn’t get too ridiculous (aka no space sharks). I guess my rankings would be 2, 4, 1, 5, 3. I put Sharknado 3 last because I actually forgot it happened and had to look it up before ranking these. I don’t like my Sharknado’s to be forgettable.

Birb: 3, 5, 2, 1, 4. Best movie is Sharknado 3. The last half of the movie saves a rather unimpressive first half (much like most of these movies) but in a big way. Space sharks, the fact that a character’s death was put up to a twitter hashtag vote, April’s new chainsaw hand, Gill being birthed from the stomach of a shark, Finn’s dad being stuck on the moon and being very happy about it, a lightsaber chainsaw… this movie really had it all.

4 had the unfortunate role of coming after the most extreme Sharknado movie, so while it had its moments, it couldn’t surprise me too much. It almost overtakes 1 just because of that stupid defibrillator bit at the end, but the original is the original so that’s a big plus.

~Stay tuned for more nonsense~

- bunny & birb

#bunny #birb #thursday #sharknado #sharknado 5 #movie review #sharknado review #thisisbunnyinthetags #i still dont remember what the 3rd movie is about #collab #collaboration post #long post #text post #gifs #bad movie review #bad movie

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clan-fuildarach · 8 years ago

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birb story chapter 4

nit and nuala get out for the first time, it doesn’t go well

do u like cliffhangers

the tag for this is “#birb story 2017″ if u wanna see the other chapters

The sun made a rare appearance the next day. Watery shafts of sunlight illuminated the compound construction site, glinting off the puddles scattered around the grounds. The rain had stopped, but the think banks of grey clouds still threatened in the distance.

Nuala sat on the back of the builders’ flat-bed lorry. The thick bandage wrapped around her right hand was already damp from the general atmosphere of the yard, and the puddles on the back of the lorry had already started soaking through her so-called waterproof over-trousers. Compared to the east coast, Mayo was ridiculously damp.

In the distance, the waves crashed up against the cliffs, plumes of spray just about visible over the sea of deer grass. The boundary wall of the compound only shielded the eastern side, leaving the west open to the Atlantic.

“Nuala!”

She glanced around, squinting against the sunlight. Emily strode towards her across the yard, and trailing behind her was Nit. It was the one who’d called out - as Nuala raised her bandaged hand in greeting, Nit pushed past Emily and bounded on ahead. With a strangely stiff-legged bird stride, it reached the lorry and leapt onto the flat-bed.

“Hi,” Nuala said. “She finally let you out.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Emily said, approaching at a more sedate pace. “The vault is ruined.”

“Nuala, look!”

Nuala had to turn, smiling faintly. Nit stood in the centre of the flat-bed, its arms spread dramatically. For a moment Nuala wasn’t sure what she was looking at. Something dark seemed to take shape in the air behind Nit, extending far out to either side of the lorry.

After a couple of seconds, Nit’s wings solidified, casting a heavy shadow on the rest of the lorry. They were enormous, broad and rectangular, tipped with flared, fingerlike primary feathers, each longer than Nuala was tall. The feathers were pitch black, but the parts bared to the sunlight gleamed in a variety of oilspill colours. Fully extended, Nit had a wingspan larger than that of a small plane.

It watched Nuala expectantly, its eyes wide and very purple.

“You didn’t… tell us… you had wings,” Emily said, apparently stunned.

Nuala felt like a parent, duty-bound to congratulate her child. She put her hands together and clapped as hard as she could without hurting her injured palm. “They’re great, Nit!” she said brightly. “Just remember - you can’t fly.”

Nit’s eager expression faded. It glanced up, at the cloudy sky. Then, with a faint sigh, it folded its wings and moved over to the edge of the lorry. It had to walk hunched over to save its flight feathers from dragging on the wet ground.

“Why not?” Emily said curiously.

“Because that’s dangerous,” Nuala said. Explaining her reasoning would not do her any favours, so she didn’t elaborate.

Nit’s wings flared. Nuala turned, casting it a warning look, but it wasn’t about to take it off. With a beat of its wings it leapt onto a nearby scaffolding tower. Turning its back to the sunlight, it spread its wings to their full extent and settled down.

“What are you doing?” Nuala said.

“This place is too damp,” Nit said. “Need to dry off.”

“That’s actually quite common vulture behaviour,” Emily said in an odd, detached tone. “Nuala, keep an eye on it, will you? You’re the only one it listens to.”

Nuala nodded. Emily settled down on the edge of the lorry, beside Nuala. “We need to talk about last night,” she said in a low tone.

Obligingly, Nuala extended her injured hand for inspection. “I saw one of Jennifer’s men drive his truck over here,” she said. “There was a cage on the back, so I put two and two together and went to have a look.”

“And Jennifer injured you, did she? Your blood was all over the wall.”

Nuala nodded.

Emily hesitated for a moment, biting her lip. She pushed up her glasses and fumbled with the cuffs of her white coat. “And you didn’t tell Nit to attack her?”

“No,” Nuala said. “Nit wouldn’t have attacked her at all, but Jennifer was pointing her gun at me. It was defending me.”

“Yes, that’s what it said.” Emily flicked a glance over at the air spirit in question. With a rustle like wind moving through a pile of dry leaves, Nit turned. It bounded over to the second lorry parked nearby, the cabin door of which hung open. Nit settled down on the top of the open door, where there really wasn’t a lot of space, and fanned its wings again. This time, it could actually speak to Nuala and Emily.

“This is true,” it said. “Jennifer was going to shoot the sleeping dart at Nuala.”

Emily nodded again. “Okay. God, I can’t believe she’d do something like that. As a whole, it was just so… unscientific! We’ve done absolutely no sedative susceptibility tests on Nit, it could have reacted badly to any of the chemicals in the darts. She could have killed it! My heart was racing when I heard, Christ Almighty…”

Shaking her head in apparent disappointment, Emily gently peeled back Nuala’s bandage. The gash on her palm was surprisingly clean, healing well, but the doctor still tutted.

“I’ll need to wash that out, to be safe. Wait til I get my equipment…”

She stood up and hurried away.

With a thud, Nit dropped onto the flat-bed beside Nuala.

Nuala held out her hand, showing Nit the diagonal gash that had only just started scabbing over. To her surprise, Nit actually flinched away.

“What’s the matter?” Nuala said. “Scared I’ll summon you again?”

“That wasn’t summoning me that you did,” Nit said. “You almost killed yourself doing it, too.”

“You still came,” Nuala said.

Nit traced a circle in mid-air with the tip of one claw, then mimed pressing a hand print into the centre of the circle. “This is a summon circle for everything. It’s too strong for a little human like you. And if I hadn’t wiped it out we both would have been in big fucking trouble.”

“Because other, uh, spirits would have come, too?” Nuala said.

“Yes,” Nit said. “And they are not as friendly as me.”

“Okay,” Nuala said, recalling the terrible weakness that had moved through her the night before. Almost immediately after Nit had scrubbed out the circle, she’d started feeling better. No wonder, if the thing had been draining her strength like that. “I won’t be doing that again. But what if I wanted to summon just you, how would I do that?”

Nit drew a circle on the ground with a mud-encrusted talon. “This is the circle. You draw it in blood, obviously. Your blood, the strength comes from you. This is the symbol for spirits of my order…” It traced a twisting mark onto the circle. “And as quickly as possible, before anything bad is summoned, you put my personal number.”

“You have a number?” Nuala said. “Like a phone number?”

Nit looked bewildered, its ears twitching slightly. “No. Just a number.”

“Which number, then?”

“Fifty-four.” Using a form of writing totally alien to Nuala, Nit scratched a figure into the centre of the circle. “It works in any language,” Nit said. “And then you do the hand thing.”

Nuala nodded slowly, memorising the symbols. “So… if you can be measured in numbers, that means there aren’t that many of you, huh?”

“There are seventy-two in my order,” Nit said. Suddenly, its eyes widened. Its nose twitched. With an eager look Nuala knew well, Nit bounded to its feet and turned to face a builder walking past a few metres away. Clutched in the builder’s hands were a coffee cup and a breakfast roll wrapped in tinfoil. Nit’s intense stare fixed on the roll.

Slowly, the builder turned, perhaps sensing that it was being watched.

Maybe Nuala should have called Nit back, but she knew that, really, it wasn’t doing any harm. The builder was safe, and, anyway, he could get another roll from the canteen for free.

With a couple of bolstering wing beats Nit reached the man. He froze, his face pale, and glanced away, struggling not to notice the creature towering above him. Nit leant over, its wings half-spread, its feathers standing on end, and reached out.

It caught the hem of the builder’s reflective jacket and tugged.

That was enough for him - he dropped his coffee and his roll and ran, shedding his jacket as he went. He darted into the nearest building - a pub that had become the builders’ sleeping quarters - and vanished from sight.

Nit stooped and triumphantly picked up the roll and, after a thoughtful evaluation, the cup of coffee. Its lid had prevented spillage, just about.

Looking supremely pleased with itself, Nit returned to the lorry. Grinning, Nuala flashed it a thumbs-up sign.

Someone cleared their throat behind Nuala. Both Nit and Nuala turned to see Emily standing a few paces away, her arms folded.

“You can’t do that,” she said firmly. “That’s stealing.”

“No,” Nit said.

“Yes, it is,” Emily said.

“The shiny human got it from the food house,” Nit said, pointing over at the canteen. It must have been watching the builder longer than Nuala had realised. Either that or it had seen people leaving the canteen with food and put two and two together. “It doesn’t own the food.”

“That’s no excuse,” Emily said. She sat down beside Nuala and unzipped her doctor’s bag. “And you were intimidating him, too. If you want people to think you’re not hostile, you can’t go messing around like that.”

Nit prised off the coffee cup lid, miraculously managing not to splash it anywhere. It took a sniff, hesitated, then peeled back the tinfoil from the roll and dipped it into the cup.

“This might sting,” Emily said quietly, pouring a clear fluid over Nuala’s hand. Nuala flinched, her skin going numb as the fluid - alcohol, probably - began to vaporise. The alcohol stink floated into the air, making her stomach turn over. Nit sneezed.

As Emily cleaned out Nuala's wound, Nit finished up its breakfast and sat back down on the flat-bed, scowling down at the pale concrete mud staining its feet. With a self-important huff of breath, it rubbed its palms together and started carefully drawing its fingers through its plumage.

The sun vanished again, behind the heavy cloud bank. Emily carefully wound a new bandage around Nuala's hand.

“I've spoken to Dr Feeny,” she said.

“Who?”

“That's the man looking out for us in the dáil. I told him that you're not infectious, and he hasn't gotten back to me yet, but I think you might be allowed home soon.”

“But I don't want to go home,” Nuala said sharply. “I want to go back to college, am I allowed to do that?”

“In light the death of your professor, David Kilrush, the college is allowing you to repeat second year for no extra charge. So, you can go back next September.” Nuala's eyes widened. Beside her, Nit stopped preening, its gaze flicking across to her.

No way was Nuala going to let herself fall behind her classmates. No way. Those fuckers would be third years when Nuala was still a second year, she'd be behind, she'd be less knowledgeable than them. Those lazy little shits were the ones who deserved to get held back, not her.

“That's fair, isn't it?” Emily said. “You've already missed over a month, you wouldn't pass your exams anyway. They're throwing you a bone here.”

Nuala practically growled. Casting Emily a hard look, she wrenched her hand back and folded her arms. Nit rose to its feet and wandered away, but Nuala didn't even notice.

There was no point arguing with Emily, since she was only the bearer of bad news. She was only trying to help. Nuala turned away, already planning out the email she'd have to write to her school board, petitioning them for a shot at the second year end of semester exams. She'd been an 'exemplary student', according to David himself, and he wouldn't have chosen just anyone for such an important excavation.

A flare of black feathers made her glance around, momentarily distracting her from her fury. Nit stood several paces away, its wings half-folded. Its eyes were flat, focussed on the distance. Frowning, Nuala followed its gaze. Several kilometres away, beyond the crest of a hill, deep in bog territory, the clouds had started darkening. Even as she watched, a flicker of lightning illuminated the hill.

“What is it?” she said.

Almost as soon as she asked, Emily's mobile phone rang.

“Hello?” The doctor rose to her feet and moved away, turning her back on Nuala.

“The lines are broken,” Nit said.

Nuala stood up, craning her neck to try to see over the hill. As far as she knew, there was nothing there, just a couple of scraggy mountain sheep. The bog there was too damp and deep to allow vehicles to drive on it, and the probe team hadn't gotten there yet.

“Which lines?” she said.

“What?” Emily said loudly. “Are you serious?” Nit pointed limply, at the flickering threads of lightning over the hill.

Emily thrust her phone into her pocket and returned to Nuala.

“I've had reports that there's been a bogslide nearby,” Emily said. “It uncovered another neolithic structure, like Nit's tomb...”

“And where exactly did it happen?” Nuala said.

“Slightly east, inland, over in... that direction.” Finally noticing the localised lightning storm on the horizon, Emily trailed off. She pointed. “Just about there, actually. We need to send someone – oh, god, what if a bunch of kids stumble into the tomb, they could die-” Nit approached Nuala and Emily, its eyes wide and wary.

“I could go,” Nuala said.

“No,” Nit said. “You're only safe from one curse, this one is new.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Emily said. “Okay. How close can we get before the illness gets at us?”

“If you touch the lines, or if you're there – no, I don't know,” Nit said, “it could be anything, they're all different.” Apparently without realising it, they'd started combing through the feathers of their chest again.

Emily nodded. “All right. Okay. We'll have to suit up – there's just enough suits left for three scientists, though, and we'll need assistants. And an actual archaeologist.”

Nuala glanced around at Emily, her eyebrows raised.

“Not you,” Emily said.

Lightning flickered in the distance, accompanied by a thready burst of thunder. The darkness in the clouds was spreading, drawing closer. Even the sheep were scared, racing down from the hillside towards Cnoc Mór.

“I can go,” Nit said. “I am safe.” It shot a sly look across at Nuala. “But to get there fast enough I'll have to fly.”

Of course. Nuala narrowed her eyes at it, internally warring against the overwhelming instinct to keep Nit grounded, and the sharp curiosity that had sprung up as soon as she'd heard about the new tomb. What if another spirit lay within? What if the pottery was intact, and she could save some and write up a thousand amazing essays-

“Fine,” she said, abruptly. “Go. But... don't hang around. Check it out and then come straight back, tell us if there's any danger.”

Nodding eagerly, Nit darted away, to the tangle of scaffolding again. It hauled itself up, reached a suitable perching place, and glanced down at her. Despite the looming maybe-threat, its eyes were bright and shining.

“We are connected,” it called down to Nuala. “If there's any danger, you'll know.”

With a blissful smile, Nit launched itself into space. Its wings snapped out, battering Nuala with a hard gale. Not only that, but as Nit climbed into the sky, a lozenge-shaped bird tail faded into existence behind it. With scarcely a flap of its wings, Nit rose effortlessly into the sky.

“I didn't think it possible,” Emily muttered.

Nuala could feel the steady, powerful beat of another creature's heart beside her own. She closed her eyes and almost felt the wind pushing her hair back, the light drizzle bouncing off her wonderful, beautiful wings. As soon as Nit got back, she thought, and there wasn't any immediate danger, she'd have to ask it what exactly it meant by 'we're connected'. And, well, everything else it had said about her, too. Not a normal human, for one.

Hopefully that meant that Nuala would be sprouting a pair of wings herself, soon. She'd never really considered flying, or dreamed of it like some people seemed to do, but now that she could almost understand what it was like, she instantly saw the attraction.

“It's magic,” Emily said. “I don't have any other explanation. But... well, it exists in this world, so it has to have some kind of logical explanation.” But it didn't – Nuala knew that much, instinctively.

“Air spirit,” Emily muttered. “It's like a vulture, it's soaring – I suppose with a surface area like that, the relative coolness of the climate doesn't matter that much. Lozenge tail – like a lammergeier?”

At this distance, it was almost impossible to tell Nit apart from the other birds wheeling around below the clouds, though its pitch black colouring was rather conspicuous amidst the colonies of grey and white sea birds. It wasn't flapping its wings any more, it was soaring – if Nuala concentrated just hard enough, she could feel it, the buffering press of warm air on her underside, lifting her wings and carrying her along through no effort of her own.

Then, abruptly, her heart sped up.

“This is bad,” she said, her eyes wide, fixed on Nit's distant form. It was so far away now that she could barely see it, a tiny black speck in the dark clouds. “This is – this is bad,” she said again, her voice fading.

“What?” Emily said.

Nuala couldn't explain it. But whatever they'd just done, it had been a big mistake. Nit wasn't supposed to fly – not because flying itself was wrong, but because Nit had moved too far away from Nuala herself. The distance was the problem. And in that distance, something had snapped.

“We're exposed,” Nuala said, hardly aware of what she was saying.

And, just like that, a bolt of lightning arced from the cloudy sky and struck the roof of the community centre. The thunder was immediate, all-consuming, making Nuala wince and flinch away. Smoke rose from the roof.

The flames didn't seem real, they spread so fast. Suddenly, the entire community centre was ablaze. Builders scurried away like ants from a blazing nest, some of them chancing the drop down from the higher scaffolding. Emily turned on the spot, staring, already reaching for her phone.

An acrid stench of burning plastic filled the air. A section of scaffolding collapsed with an almighty jangle, poles bouncing off the ground only a metre from Nuala. A builder screamed as a thick wooden platform landed on top of her. Nuala was frozen, rooted to the spot, unable to breathe over the smoke and the knowledge that something was coming.

A shadow fell over Nuala and Emily, broad and bird-shaped. Nuala's heart pounded and she gasped with relief at the sound of the wing beats pushing the pall of smoke away. She glanced up, and stopped breathing.

The creature above her was enormous, feathered, and vaguely Nit-shaped, but it wasn't Nit. Its feathers were a grimy white, except for the primary and secondary wing feathers, which were coal black. It was tall, taller than Nit by over a foot, and instead of a pair of pale horns it had a single black horn, in the centre of its forehead. Like the head of a stork, its head and neck were bare and dark grey, wrinkled and ugly. Its feet – enormous, pale feet – stretched out towards Nuala.

Emily came from nowhere, tackling Nuala to the ground under the lorry. The creature's feet closed on mid-air, but that didn't deter the creature. It snatched at Emily, instead, the claws sinking into her white coat. Nuala stared, unable to move, unable to blink, as the creature landed on top of Emily.

The enormous, pointed wings folded. Emily struggled weakly, blood soaking into her coat. With a searing blue glare, the creature evaluated the human caught in its talons.

“You are not the prophet,” it said in a voice like splintering wood.

“N-” Emily gasped.

Its pointed ears flicked contemptuously. Emily screeched, blood welling up, as the claws gripped her more tightly. Then the creature straightened up and with a single movement hurled Emily into the side of the second lorry. She hit the edge of the open door. Nuala's breath caught and she gagged, unable to banish the sickening crunch from her mind. Emily slid to the ground, her hair coming free in a filthy puddly, her neck bent at a strange angle.

“Come out from under there,” the creature said, its voice emotionless.

Nuala's limbs felt like numb sticks, unresponsive and useless. Slowly, clumsily, she emerged from under the flat-bed.

“This is the prophet,” the creature said. Its neck was unnervingly long, the skin wrinkled and scarred, its face remarkably like that of the old parish priest that had visited Nuala's national school. “But where is Nithanael?”

Its pale blue eyes bored into her, shockingly blue beside the smoke and flames consuming the compound. Heat raked at the back of Nuala's head, but she hardly cared about the fire. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the monster in front of her.

A builder sprinted past her field of view, his reflective vest ablaze. She blinked, and when her eyes opened she was looking again at Emily, the empty eyes and mud-soaked hair.

“Why did you do that?” Nuala said, her throat dry.

The creature's neck twisted, and it glanced over its shoulder. Its wings flared. Nuala pushed herself back, struggling to get under the lorry before she was caught in those claws. But she wasn't fast enough. The creature's foot caught her thigh and she found herself being dragged into the open. The creature hopped, caught her shoulder with its other foot, and beat its wings so hard that the flames engulfing the side of the lorry winked out of existence.

The ground dropped away under Nuala. She twisted, trying to escape, but all too soon she was too high to weather the fall without damage. After that, she clung onto the creature's feet for dear life, ignoring the pain of its hooked claws poking into her. At least it didn't have talons like Nit, those would have been deadly.

“In their blood runs fire,” the creature's voice said from above, as if it was quoting a Bible verse. Heat licked at Nuala's back as they flew over the burning building.

Blood. Yes, of course. Nuala's blood was dangerous. She twisted around, choking on smoke, and struggled to reach one of the claw puncture wounds with her hands. She couldn't – the creature held her tightly, her body parallel with its own. And without access to her blood, Nuala couldn't summon Nit.

“And it falls,” the creature intoned.

Nuala turned her head just far enough to see the ground below. Bad news – the creature was ascending vertically, over the burning building. Not a good place for anyone to fall, if indeed Nuala was a prophet. But she'd worry about that later.

Smoke and heat scorched her eyes. She struggled again, and just as she succeeded in reaching her thigh, the creature let go.

#birb story 2017

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clan-fuildarach · 8 years ago

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birb story chapter 6

nuala learns how to do ~blood magic~ and nit reveals its true identity

translation notes: ok over here we don’t ever call our cops “police”, they’re called an garda síochána (literally guardians of peace). and they’re called that because they don’t carry guns. one is a garda, the plural is gardaí, and as a colloquialism/anglicisaion of it we call them guards. (eg. “i was robbed so i called the guards” that kinda thing)

so when i refer to guards or gardaí just know i’m talking about the actual police

They didn't speak for almost an hour. Nuala drove in silence, her fatigued mind focussed on the sharp bends of the roads. Every so often, Nit would make a piteous noise of distress.

Eventually, though, they made it down from the hills and mountains on the coastline and into the wide, flat plains in the centre of the county that had given its name. The road straightened out, the speed limit rising comfortably, and Nuala finally felt as if she had put enough space between herself and the compound to speak.

“Okay, Nithanael,” she said, flicking a dark glance up at the rear view mirror. “Time to talk. You knew that monster, and it's fairly obvious at this point that you've been keeping secrets from us.”

In the back of the car, Nit sat pressed against the left wall to make space for its right wing. Its horns had gouged several long marks into the ceiling upholstery, but that hardly mattered. Emily was beyond caring. As Nuala spoke, Nit shifted uncomfortably and glanced out the window, at the wide, flat valley-plain they were driving through.

Mountains stretched up in the distance in all directions, to clouds that seemed incongruously white and gentle, after all that smoke. In the centre of the plain, to Nuala's right, a man-made forest of fir trees made a dark, threatening blot in the bog. The lines of fir trees were too straight, the pointed tops evenly serrated like the teeth of a saw.

“I did not... keep secrets,” Nit said slowly. “I just – I thought we had more time.”

“So when were you planning on telling me I was a prophet?” Nuala said.

“I didn't know that,” it muttered.

She directed another glare at it in the mirror.

“I knew you were something, and so did you,” Nit said. “I didn't realise you were a prophet until last night. My prophet.” “Well, that other thing – Haamiath, right? – seemed to know right away.”

Nit flinched slightly as the car shot over a speed-bump without slowing. It glanced around, its eyes wide, and wrapped a hand securely around the safety bar set into the car door.

“There is a special – uh, there's a special connection,” it said, “between a prophet and their, um... spirit. Because we were so close, you were hidden from others, and so was I. This is why Haamiath sensed you as soon as I moved far enough away.” “That's why I didn't want you flying,” Nuala said slowly.

Rain pattered against the windscreen. Nuala flicked on the wipers and headlights.

“Yes,” Nit said. “That's not a problem now, though, I won't be flying for a long time.”

The car jolted over a tiny hump-backed bridge and Nit yelped, both hands flying to the safety bar. Poor thing probably didn't have a clue about cars, or how they worked.

“And what about your name?” Nuala said. “You lied about that too, didn't you? There's a big difference between 'Nit' and 'Nithanael'.” “Yes, well,” Nit said, “I didn't, um. I didn't want you to think I was... evil, or bad.”

Nuala drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “There are seventy-two of your kind, you said. Your name sounds super biblical, so I'm going to take a shot in the dark and guess that you're not an air spirit, or whatever?” She glanced over her shoulder briefly, raising her eyebrows. “In fact I'd almost guess that Nithanael and Haamiath are angel names. From the angelic Host.”

Nit mumbled something under its breath and glanced away, its feathers pricking up defensively.

“Sorry, didn't catch that,” Nuala said triumphantly. An air spirit, well, she had no idea what that was about. But an angel? That she understood. Being the prophet of an angel sounded like a huge step up from 'college student'.

“I said,” Nit muttered, “I'm not an angel any more. Please, I know how humans think about us – sometimes they're right, like with Haamiath, but I'm not like the others.”

Slowly, Nuala put two and two together. Her eyebrows shot up.

“You're a fallen angel,” she said.

Nit nodded, gouging the ceiling a little more. For the first time since their escape from the compound, Nuala noticed that one of Nit's horns had cracked near the tip and lost several inches of length.

“But you're not evil?” Nuala said.

“I fell – wow, English has very strange terms for these things – because I wanted free will,” Nit said. “I don't have proper free will, like, human-level free will, but when I was not-fallen I didn't have any. I think. I don't remember. One of the trade-offs for falling is that you lose all your power, your holy weapons – that's not an accurate word, but your language doesn't have anything better – your knowledge of the first language. I have the gift of tongues, we all do, but some things are... inaccessible.”

Nuala nodded slowly. “And, like... hell, and the devil, that's real too?”

“No,” Nit said. “Some of the fallen started to hate humans for their free will and they organised into, like, ranks and things, but others just didn't bother. Hell is an interesting word, I don't... I don't really know what that is.”

“The opposite of heaven, which is where the angels live,” Nuala said. “Not in this plane of reality. Good humans go to heaven when they die, bad humans go to hell.” “Oh,” Nit said. “No. That's not right. Everyone lives here, on this world.”

Nuala rubbed soot off her palm and onto her trousers, not really concentrating on what she was doing.

“Back in the day, we were... not liked, by humans,” Nit said quietly. “The humans didn't like the not-fallen either, or the spirits, or the púca, the cú dorcha... any of that, they didn't like them. But eventually the fallen who hated humans the most tried to kill everyone. They banded together and tried to make a, what's the word... an apocalypse. The not-fallen hated the fallen for betraying them and defecting, so they destroyed the rebellion. Humans got this into their head, that the not-fallen are good.”

Another car flashed past on the right, the first vehicle Nuala had encountered yet on the narrow road.

“You weren't a part of that, I'm guessing,” she said.

“No, why would I? I love the world, I love humans and what they can do – you have everything, you have this metal moving machine and the lovely pig meat inside pastry and chips and the oil eggs that go flat and white – and the cake, oh, and big metal flying birds, the, uh, metal bow and arrow that's long and has sleeping arrows, wow!”

Nuala smiled for the first time in what felt like hours. “That's a gun,” she said. “And this is called a car. I guess your gift of tongues isn't quite perfect, huh?”

“There are so many new words,” Nit said apologetically. “The flying thing, that's a car too?”

“No, that's an aeroplane.”

“Ae-ro-plane,” Nit said. “Eitleán.”

“Can you do any other languages?” Nuala said curiously. “Like Chinese or something?”

“Not until I hear someone using the language,” Nit said. “Then I know.”

“So who did you hear talking Irish in the compound?” Nuala said. “It must have been when you were asleep.” “Yes, there was someone talking to themselves – or maybe on a telephone.”

A brightly-lit luxury spa hotel appeared up ahead on the left. Nuala stared, for a moment utterly thrown by something so commonplace and non-supernatural. Nit watched the hotel move past, their eyes widening.

“Are there other buildings that size?” it demanded. “Or is that one special – the human leader lives there, maybe? Someone important.”

Nuala actually laughed. Or, well, she tried to. Her throat burned and ached, and she could only manage an amused rasp.

“Yeah, Nit,” she said. “That one's the biggest structure in the entire world.”

Nit's eyes gleamed and it turned its head sharply to watch the hotel move past.

“I'm joking,” Nuala said. “It's just a hotel. It's a big one, but sure there are bigger ones around the place. Wait til you see Galway.”

“Is that where we're going?” Nit said.

“Yeah. My family lives there, I can't think of anywhere else to go.” She sighed, the last remnants of her smile fading away. Behind her, the sun – or what was visible of it – had started dipping towards the horizon.

Nit carefully drew one of its remaining primary feathers through its palms. The end of the feather was bent at a right angle near the tip, filaments crumbling off at the slightest disturbance. For a moment, it seemed as if Nit was about to cry.

“Hey, it's okay,” Nuala said, injecting some emotion into her voice. “They'll grow back.”

Nit let go of the feather, brushing burnt filaments off its fingers. “So you don't have any advanced human medicine that could help me?”

“I read an article about feather transplants, recently,” Nuala said, “but for, like, jackdaws. Tiny birds.” She yawned, momentarily losing contact with the steering wheel. The car swerved across the centre line, but luckily there was no one around for her to crash into. Her heart jolting uncomfortably, she steered back onto the left of the road and kept her eyes fixed ahead.

The sky was darkening, going from cottony grey to a deep, saturated blue. It was a balm after all those flames earlier. Sparks whirled through Nuala's imagination, and for a second she saw Emily flying through the air again, breaking against the lorry door.

“Hey, uh,” Nuala said quietly, “thanks. For saving me from Haamiath. It probably would have killed me if you hadn't attacked it.”

Nit offered her a faint smile. “You're my prophet,” it said. “But, um, Haamiath wasn't going to kill you. There are many kinds of humans with connections like yours but there's a big difference between a consort and a priest – um, monk? Disciple? - and a prophet. They are too precious to kill. I think Haamiath would have injured you so you couldn't fight back, then taken you. I don't know where.”

Nuala shot Nit an incredulous glance. “Are you fucking kidding me? I'm precious? Does this mean that the moment you move away from me, some winged monster is going to drop from the sky and try to kidnap me?”

“Yes,” Nit said. “To tell the truth, I'm a little shocked – and kind of honoured, honestly – that I would get a prophet. I didn't hope for anything more than a consort or a devotee.”

“As soon as we have the time,” Nuala growled, “you're going to teach me as much magic as possible, so I can maybe defend myself next time Haamiath or whatever else comes looking for me. Or at least tell me how to actually start making prophecies, because knowing the future would be really handy.” Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. Haamiath was going to fucking pay for what it had done. And so would everyone else on its side.

“I don't know much,” Nit said. “Basics, really.”

Lights blared in the distance. Nuala narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out what it was – the flashing whirl of blue and red looked like garda lights. Then she rounded a corner, passing by an enormous elderflower tree leaning over most of the road, and slammed the brakes.

A trio of flashing garda cars were parked across the road, forming a roadblock. Nuala's car skidded uncontrollably for a moment on the tamp tarmac, finally coming to a halt dangerously close to the neon yellow striped side of the nearest car.

A guard in a reflective vest approached Nuala's car. He shone a torch into the diver window, then indicated for Nuala to open the door.

Trying to plant a relatively normal, I'm-just-out-driving-for-no-reason look on her face, Nuala reached for the door handle.

Nit grabbed her wrist, stretching across her and right into the guard's line of sight. But he didn't scream or panic. In fact, his expression did not change.

“Don't open the door,” Nit said in a tiny, pained voice. “That's not a human. They're already searching for us.”

Nuala's gaze flicked over to the guard again, her heart accelerating. The light from the torch in his hand drowned out his expression, so that all she saw was a black silhouette, backed by dizzily whirling red and blue lights.

The guard reached out and tapped insistently on the window.

“What'll I do?” Nuala breathed.

Another sharp tap on the window.

“Draw a circle on the transparent bit,” Nit said.

“In blood?”

“Yes, what else?”

Nuala raised her voice, calling through the window. “Hold on a moment, I think the window's broken!”

She cast about the car for a sharp object, her heart pounding. Outside, a second guard – identical to the first, right down to the torch and 'Officer O'Leary' name-tag – had joined the first. The two discussed something with their heads together, then one of them pulled a gun.

“An garda síochána, ye are not,” Nuala hissed, grabbing at the only sharp thing she could see – the tip of Nit's splintered horn. She cut across her left thumb, letting the blood well up, then quickly smeared a circle on the inside of the window.

Nit warily raised its head – in cutting her thumb, she had inadvertently shoved Nit's face into the handbrake.

“Now a cruciate,” Nit said, speaking rapidly. “An, um, a cruciform...”

One of the fake guards tapped the window with his gun.

Thank god for Nuala's Christian archaeology module, otherwise she wouldn't have had a clue what Nit was saying. She smeared a cross into the centre of the circle.

“Then another circle, on the right tip.” She did so, wincing slightly as the blood of the circle and cross began to combine with the condensation already on the window. The diluted blood mixture dripped down, staining the upholstery.

“Now the hand,” Nit said.

“Really? Every time?” Nuala demanded. She tore off her bandage and stretched open her right hand until the scab broke open. Gritting her teeth, she worried at the wound until blood began flowing freely.

The gun tapped the window again. Then, without any further warning, the guard fired on the car. With a deafening blast, the bullet passed through the driver's door and embedded itself in Nuala's seat. She almost froze up, nausea rising to her throat. But she forced herself on, spreading blood over her palm, and quickly pressed a hand print into the centre of her circle.

For a moment, nothing happened. The guards seemed to have frozen. Nit pulled away, returning to the back of the van, and flattened itself to the floor as much as its injured wing allowed.

Nuala's heart battered against her ribs in time with the ringing in her ears. Less than a centimetre thickness of plexiglass stood between her and a real life gun. Aside from Jennifer's dart gun and a few ancient shotguns mounted in the back of pubs, Nuala never seen a gun in her life. In a way, even the magic blood circles were more familiar to her than guns were.

Then, slowly, the guard lowered his gun. The two of them turned away as one and walked to the cars in sync. Nuala stared, hardly daring to breathe.

The guards didn't move their cars to let her through. With fumbling, slick hands, she shoved the car into the reverse and executed clumsy three-point-turn in the centre of the road. She'd have to find another way past – though the last turn-off she remembered had been quite a while ago.

“So,” she said. “What was that that we just did?”

“A gamble,” Nit said. “They were either spirit-possessed humans or automata. A spirit in a human would not be fooled by that. So they were automata. Hollow soldiers. The circle you did was an illusion circle that make the automaton forget everything in the bounds of – inside, uh – beyond the circle? And they had to look through the circle to see you, so... they forgot you.”

Nuala nodded, shocks and jolts fraying at her nerves as the gunshot played over and over in her head. Wind howled through the new hole in the driver door.

“Do I have to cut myself every time?” she said.

“No,” Nit said. “Well. When you have nothing else, yes. But if you prepare, and use substitutes for the blood, you won't have to. But I don't know any of them.”

“Great.” One handed, Nuala struggled to wind the bandage back around her palm. All of Emily's cleaning efforts had gone to waste – in the act of clawing open the scab, she'd probably introduced even more dirt and infection. The new cut on her thumb stung, but the gash on her palm ached dully.

“While I'm still freshly bleeding,” she said, “we should probably draw that circle on all the windows, right? Because if they're chasing us, those two aren't the only ones they'll send.”

“Good idea,” Nit said.

Nodding, Nuala pulled up on the side of the road as soon as a hard shoulder appeared. Then, with a little difficulty in the tight space, she started painting the inside of each window and the back windscreen with more illusion circles. Of course, she had to leave the front windscreen clear, so she'd be able to see, but hopefully that would be enough.

“It's a pity you can't help,” she said pointedly, once the job was done. She squeezed past Nit and settled back into the driver's seat.

“My blood is useless,” Nit said.

“But you don't have any special powers?”

Nit looked out the bloody window thoughtfully. The tip of its forked tongue flashed out, catching a drip of blood coming off the circle.

“Gross,” Nuala muttered, starting up the engine. “Listen, how long will these things last?”

“As long as the circle is unbroken,” Nit said. “So... until the blood dries. When it dries, it'll crack and break the circle.”

Good thing the interior of the car was so damp. To help more condensation from on the windows, to keep the circles damp, Nuala switched off the heating. Cold sank into her skin almost immediately.

“Okay, finally,” she said, when the headlights caught the reflective surface of a road sign pointing out an upcoming T-junction. Further signs promised that if she took the turn, she'd be following along the 'scenic' route, alongside the great western greenway. She had only the vaguest idea of what the greenway even was, but the sign looked safe and touristy.

The sky darkened. Nuala kept her eyes on the road, glancing from side to side every so often to check for police lights. Once, distantly, she could have sworn she heard sirens.

The problem was that everyone knew about Nit. Once the initial curse sickness had run its course, and the panic had died down slightly, the scientists had turned their attentions to Nit. And almost instantly, they'd gone on record confirming what Nuala had already known, but what came as an earth-shattering revelation to everyone else: that Nit was a living creature, as real as any other animal.

Only the threat of illness had saved the compound from a media storm. But even Nuala's parents, both of whom had trouble telling one end of a mobile phone from the other, had emailed her enquiring about Nit, the 'Cnoc Mór Devil'. People all over the world had started publishing articles and going on the radio and appearing on TV, all talking about Nit. The notes about Nit's birdlike anatomy had become public alarmingly fast.

So even if real, non-possessed, non-automaton authorities had reached the compound, they'd know instantly that something important was missing. Everyone would be out searching for Nit. It was too important a specimen to let slip away, just like that. Jennifer's actions had proven that, anyway.

The greenway road cut across the centre of the plain, yes, but it was also hopelessly twisty and devoid of signs. As the darkness outside became complete, Nuala found herself driving faster and faster, pushing the boundaries of safety. Who knew what sorts of monsters were chasing her?

She reached over and flicked open the glove-box, blindly thumbing through it until she found a map.

“Here,” she said, tossing it back to Nit, “can you read that for me? Just find Cnoc Mór, then follow the main road to Westport until the greenway splits off – that's where we turned.”

Nit unfolded the map and spent a few seconds turning it over and over. Nuala watched in the rear-view mirror, slowing down slightly to compensate.

“Got it?” she said.

“Yes,” Nit said. “Wait. No. This is upside-down.” It rotated the map until it was the right way up.

“Well?”

“Or... this is upside-down,” Nit said, turning it over again.

“Just read the town names,” Nuala said.

“Wait... wait...” Nit flattened out the map on the ground and stared hard at it. “Actually, I can't read.”

Nuala's eyebrows twitched. “I guess you pre-date writing. Hold on til I park up here...”

She pulled over and squeezed into the back of the minivan. Flicking on the indoor lights, she crouched beside the map and had a look. After a moment's pause, she sighed and turned it so that it really was the right way up for Nit.

“Okay, here's Cnoc Mór,” she said, pointing out the tiny tangle of roads on the western coastline. “Here's the main road, and here's Westport. Which is where we're going right now, since there'll be signs pointing us to Galway. Which is down there. But what I need to know right now is where the hell I am.”

Together, they studied the map. Then Nit touched the tip of a claw to the paper. “There. This is the road bend, that's the river we passed a minute ago. We're here.”

All right. Nuala traced the rest of the road down to Westport, trying to visualise any potential ambush spots for fake gardaí. The road was so bendy that she could easily imagine the guards at any corner, hidden by bushes or more coniferous plantations. Despite all the potential hiding spots, she felt herself sigh with relief – they were actually fairly close to Westport, maybe twenty minutes away at most.

It was one thing to have strange, non-human monsters chasing her in the pitch darkness of the plains. She couldn't imagine being chased by anyone in the bright, modern-ness of the city.

So, feeling a lot better, she returned to the diver's seat and started down the road again.

#birb story 2017 #remember that's my tag if u wanna see the other chapters #not fr

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clan-fuildarach · 8 years ago

Text

birb story chapter 5 (i think?)

cliffhanger is resolved and nuala escapes the compound

i’m making the chapters a little shorter

Nuala plummeted through a choking world of smoke and fire, her limbs cartwheeling uselessly. She hit the roof with a crunch, pain shooting through her hip. But, unbelievably, she'd survived the fall. The metal of the roof was sizzling, too hot for her to rest her bare skin on it for longer than a few seconds. Only a metre away, a glowing hole marked out where the lightning had hit. Fumes from melting plastic and noxious chemicals spilled from the hole.

Hacking and coughing, Nuala scrambled to her feet. Her hip screamed with pain but she forced it down. She turned on the spot, squinting, unable to even see the edge of the roof through the smoke, let alone any emergency stairs or remaining scaffolding. There was no way down.

She tipped her head up, in an effort to avoid the smoke for a few precious seconds.

A flash of white crossed her vision high overhead and she flinched, ducking, but the creature didn't seem to care about her. It had its own problems to deal with, its wings fixed and wheeling, its tail flared. For a second, she thought the black shape moving in tandem with it was its shadow on the smoke clouds. Then she realised that it was Nit.

They were fighting, or, at least, that was what it looked like. Nit and the white monster had their talons locked, and despite the larger size of the white creature it seemed to be unable to right itself. The two fell through the clouds of smoke, tumbling over and over, their wings spread uselessly.

And they were getting really close. Nuala yelped and scrambled to the side just in time to avoid being hit by a feathery meteor. She collapsed a few metres away, on one of the mercifully-cool concrete roof slabs.

Of the two of them, Nit rose first. Its talons locked in the white creature's front and it spread its wings defensively, as if to shield its prey from being stolen. Clumps of black and white feathers spiralled away, catching fire as they passed the edge of the roof.

The white creature hissed and spat, thrashing its wings uselessly. “I always knew you were a human-sympathiser, to the core,” it rasped. “The Host will destroy you and your prophet.”

Black blood pooled around Nit's talons. “The Host? You've sided with them?” it said sharply, its eyes widening. “Haamiath, you-”

The white creature surged, and Nit lost its balance. Hissing, streaming its sludgy black blood, the white monster leapt to its feet. It spread its wings and broke into a short taxi run to take off, the hot air rising from the roof more than enough to carry it away.

“The Host knows, Nithanael!” it screeched. “It's coming!”

“The Host will have to catch me, first!” Nit yelled, its short fangs bared.

It didn't seem to mind the smoke, but Nuala's oxygen situation was becoming desperate. Her head sagged, strength flooding from her body. Pain bloomed from her hip, and the pinpricks all over her body where the creature had gripped her.

Footsteps on the roof. Nuala glanced up, her chest heaving.

Nit's wings sent a blast of clean, fresh air into her face. She gasped in a breath and instantly started coughing again.

Eyes wide with concern, Nit beat its wings again, trying to push away the smoke. It stood in front of her, shielding her from the worst of the smoke.

“Th-thanks,” Nuala panted.

“Can you walk?” Nit said.

“Y-yeah, I think,” Nuala said. “I – Nit!” She pointed, unable to find enough air to scream a warning.

Nit turned. Its query turned into an unholy screech of horror at the sight of the flames consuming its right wing. The stink of burning feathers washed over Nuala. Shrieking, Nit beat its wing as hard as it could, just about succeeding in putting out the flames. The broken, burning tips of feathers drifted to the ground.

“We have to go,” Nuala croaked, struggling to her feet. “You're too inflammable.”

Nit nodded, its eyes wide and terrified. None of its earlier bravado remained. Breathing hard, it followed Nuala to the one roof edge that wasn't fringed with flames.

No good – the scaffolding was gone, scattered uselessly across the yard. There had to be another way. Nuala closed her aching eyes, struggled to think. Nit was no help at all, flinching away from the flames as if it had only just discovered that fire was dangerous.

“We have to go through the building,” Nuala said. “You can jump down from the rafters – maybe it's not even on fire in there.”

Nit glanced through the lightning hole, hesitating. “Nuala,” it whimpered.

“Look, I know it sucks,” Nuala said, “but we've got to go, the roof could collapse any moment.” Still struggling to draw in enough air, she stumbled over to the lightning hole and peered through.

The interior of the building was dark. No flames at all, and she saw why a second later – the safety sprinklers had already activated, dousing the entire hall. But only the interior. Either way, it was the safest place to be. The roof had started to groan, and the smoke was only getting thicker.

She turned. Nit was still staring, aghast, at the mess of burnt and broken feathers tipping its right wing. No use at all. She grabbed its hand and dragged it over to the hole.

“Pick me up,” she said.

“My wing,” Nit said faintly.

“Nithanael!” Nuala snapped.

Nit's gaze snapped round to Nuala. It closed its eyes briefly, as if to steady itself, then nodded. It pulled Nuala up into its arms, cradling her against its chest, and stepped through the hole.

They fell through a drizzle of water and landed in a mound of flame-retardant foam. As she'd predicted, Nit weathered the fall without damage. Steam filled the air, almost as impossible to inhale as the smoke had been.

Nuala wriggled out of Nit's arms and hit the ground. “Okay. We have to go, come on. This way.”

Finally, Nit snapped out of its horrified contemplation of its wing. It nodded and set off after her.

“Wait,” it said.

She paused, skidding to a halt in a snowdrift of foam, and turned. Nit was further back than she'd thought – without the correct leg anatomy, it couldn't run as fast as her at all. It didn't seem capable of making its wings non-corporeal again, and they really were too big to keep out indoors, catching on furniture and trailing through foam and scraps of half-melted plastic.

“Almost there,” Nuala said reassuringly, casting a sharp glance up at another complaint from the roof. Through the translucent plastic panels she could see more flames, more sparks and smoke.

Inside the hall, the water from the sprinklers began to evaporate before it had even hit the ground. Steam obscured Nuala's vision, filling the space between herself and Nit. Although the notion went against all her base instincts, she turned and sprinted back to Nit, determined to drag it out with her no matter what.

She grabbed its hand and started pulling, walking at a slightly more manageable pace towards the door. She could see it, the flames had scorched its sides and blown the glass from its panels, but through the open spaces she could see the yard, and, beyond that, the peaceful purple-green hills of the surrounding countryside.

“You okay?” Nuala said, as they reached the door.

Nit sounded like an injured puppy, whining in distress. But at least it was still alive.

With the last of her strength, Nuala kicked at the door. The damaged hinges burst and the door fell open, admitting a burst of freezing, damp air. Gratefully filling her lungs, Nuala dragged Nit over the threshold, as far as the first abandoned pile of cinder blocks three metres away. Then her hand went slack. She staggered, then sat down hard on a block.

Behind her, flames punched through the roof panels, once again setting the interior alight. With a yelp Nit bounded back.

“Nuala,” it said faintly.

“I know, your wing,” Nuala gasped. “I'm sorry.”

“No,” it said. “We need to go – Haamiath got away, it could be back soon. With friends.” Nuala glanced back at the compound that had housed her for a month. She saw builders running, dragging injured companions. She saw the silhouette of Emily's body, crumpled at the base of a lorry.

“Yeah,” Nuala said. “Let's go.”

She turned on the spot, foolishly waiting for a bus or car to pull up to take them away from the horror of the compound. But, of course, they were on their own. Biting her lip, she glanced over at the small collection of cars parked just inside the compound wall, by the electronic gate. The black minivan was Emily's.

Nuala's expression didn't change, but she did shake a little.

“Wait here,” she said. Nit didn't look like it would be moving any time soon, anyway, still in apparent shock over the damage to its wing.

Nuala turned and sprinted back towards the fire, and the lorries still parked by the burning hall. Flames had pitted the flat-bed, leaving black-ringed marks, but luckily the fire hadn't reached the diesel tanks yet. Heat clawed at her back as she crouched beside Emily's body.

The first thing Nuala did was turn Emily's face away. Once those blank, sightless eyes were pointed elsewhere, Nuala conducted a quick pat-down of the dead doctor's pockets. She found a wallet, a mobile phone, and a keyring.

Taking her car was one thing, but stealing her wallet and phone was another. Nuala left those in her pockets, taking only the keys and enough money to cover a bus fare to Galway. As soon as they were within her grip, she rose to her feet and scrambled backwards, slightly wary of turning her back to Emily. Once she was far enough, she finally turned and broke into a run.

“Come on!” she said, grabbing Nit's arm as she ran past it.

They reached the minivan. For some reason, Nuala couldn't get her hand to stop trembling long enough to slide the key into the lock. Eventually, after an age, she shoved the key in and wrenched the door open.

“Get in the back,” she said, sitting into the driver's seat. Soot and debris marked the windscreen. Her breath rasping in her throat, she fumbled at the vehicle controls until the wipers started up and cleared the glass. It was lucky that the seats in the back were folded down, otherwise there was no way Nit would have been able to fit inside. And although it could let its left wing fade out of the corporeal plane, its right wing remained stubbornly present.

She hadn't noticed it before, but a strong smell of burning flesh and feathers rose from the injured wing. Gagging slightly, Nuala had to reach back to shut the door for Nit. Her hands refused to stop shaking, but finally she got the engine started.

Proximity sensors by the gate pulled up the barrier as Nuala reversed out, and suddenly the burning compound was receding into the distance behind them. Switching on the air conditioning to full blast, Nuala directed her car down the twisting country road and didn't ease off the accelerator until even the faint glow of flames had receded over the horizon.

#birb story 2017

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