#standalone ; dont rb ic

[music-among-the-amapolas]

Tallulah is attempting to learn how to fly.

She knows how to glide. Of course she does- Phil hammered that into his kids head early. They lived on the wall for fucks sake, it was like tipping over the edge of a cliff. People get downed all the time missing clutches and slipping off. So, yes, of course his kids know how to glide.

She spreads a small pair of wings, her glider and waystone easily on hand. She's in no danger when she hums, steeling herself, and jumps. Her wings catch wind near immediately.

They've always been- different. Tallulah didn't look like the other kids. She never has. While her hair had been altered- and her body, she thinks- the dragon aspects she just can't seem to get rid of never seemed to match up with anyone else. It's... rage-inducing. Or, rather, it's embarrassing.

Chayanne had the prettiest, feathery wings. God, and now she knows so does Tilin. Pretty, perfect Tilin. (So did Richas, side note. That made her want to eat her hat.) They... looked just like Papa Phil, or Mama Wilbur, or Tio Quackity. Feathers. The prettiest wings Tallulah had ever seen.

But Tallulah's were scales and skin. There was no feathers when she spreads them- just two layered wings with little spines and thick skin. Green and black and every so slightly patterned- she used to think it was so cool that they pattern almost resembled a butterfly. But.

She doesn't look like her family. Not one of them.

She's only more dissapointed when she can't seem to fly. Maybe she's still too young. Maybe her wings still aren't big enough or strong enough. Miserably, she glides- two dragonic feet extending as she softly lands. She warps back up and does it again.

And again.

And again.

But she doesn't fly.

She's never going to be like them, is she? She's always going to be the odd one out. Tears prick at the thought, which she furiously shoves down. Dark wings and yellow where the white in her eyes is meant to be and a stupid little tail.

Tallulah doesn't extend her legs fast enough, stumbling as she makes it to the floor, before her knees hit the dirt. She doesn't cry. Doesn't even think to. And she doesn't post anything. She says absolutely nothing, does absolutely nothing, just like she's been teaching herself to.

She ignores the sharp ache and the growing loneliness. The sour sting of jealousy gets swallowed by the time she's picking herself up, deciding to just walk it off. She's not going to cry about it.

She's not going to cry about it. Her wings flap, giving her nothing but moments off the ground. Nothing good. There's no rustle or feathers, even. She didn't even know that was something she could be upset about.

Tallulah is attempting to learn how to fly.

[egg-a1]

They get her out in the morning. All of the people who handle her are robots. She's not dumb, she picks that up fast, her shoulder bumping hard metal plating as she's carried into the room with the metal table. The bears are all faceless, wordless- they talk through artificial voices to her, like recorded lines, but never to each other. It's like they all just knew what they were doing.

It meant this was fairly quiet.

She didn't like it. The people in white coats were always talking. They were rough and they were mean most of the time, tired of her maw snapping and her claws swiping, she had always just been an animal. These bears treat her like a little girl.

The rules changed, and it's devastating. She, for the first time in a very long time, tries to wrench away from the incoming. She smushes herself against the wall and bares her now human teeth, flat and gap-y and yellowing.

The Bear's ears shift down like mama's did. But this wasn't her Rucho, and she sees their paws coming, and it's not her mom she thinks about. It's her house and white-hot pain and being grabbed. She flinches away and starts to cry again as the robot pulls her forward. It's so very gentle, but she doesn't want to go. She tries to fight and she can't. It's stronger than her.

One of them holds her. A paw clasps to her shoulder, smushing her against it's chest, and the other is extended as the needle comes down. She never used to watch. It used to be so easy. It used to be routine. Everything is different and fur tickles her nose and she's really, really mad.

And then she's cold again. Motion starts, blurred as she forces herself and her mind back into her home. She tries to imagine it's a game. Her and Trumpet were playing a doctor game, that's all. Or Bad was taking care of her again- she's sick. That's all.

She only snaps back to reality when the buzzer turns on. Her eyes focus on the fluffs of white hair on the ground.

Oh.

[egg-a1]

It's fucking cold.

That's her biggest gripe right now. She's got a mental list going, fingers curled into Minirucho's now wet fabric. It starts with the fact that they took her dress-coat thing. Her clothes. Her clothes, because they were hers and she wore them all the time, and they were stolen from her. So now she's cold in the itchy, itchy and thin dress they need her in, stupid boney arms sticking out all wonky and her scars and burns on display. And she's cold.

Her room wasn't decorated- but neither was the last room in the facility. At least this one was bigger. The bedframe had room to fit under, to smush herself against the wall as much as possible and pretend to be back home. Everything else was a bore.

Another irritating thing: the door sounded different. She claws and yanks and when that doesn't work she listens and waits. Nothing budges- not like the last one- and when they open and close it, it makes this real loud click and hiss noise. She can't slip out like last time.

She's mad. She's so mad it's become blinding, tearing apart whatever she could. Digging her sore fingers into grout, trying to wrench the drain from the floor. Nothing works and it makes her hands hurt, which makes her so mad- so so very mad. Her sore teeth leave sore marks in her hands and wrists as she looked for any way out, anything to do, something to help-

-and when she finds nothing, wailing is the only option left. She screams and kicks and sobs, smacking her feet against the door, banging her head against the frame until all the energy is gone and she's exhausted and wet with tears and sore.

She lays flat on the floor and sniffles, fingers curling into Minirucho. Their little leg was starting to fall off. She was too rough.

That makes her feel so much worse.

[music-among-the-amapolas]

Tallulah keeps her hand on A1's sleeve, secretly helping her up the wall and towards the house. She goes inside first, locking her bedroom behind her, and opening the window to her room and dragging her new friend inside.

A1 was too scared to meet the family, but that's okay. Tallulah just hides her instead. (What's another little secret?) She hums, beaming as she rummaged for her old tablet and hands it over.