#valtroix

I am feeling... hopeful. I mean, hungry. Actually, don’t listen to me at all. The lovely lady with the sword is reserved for you until September 26th!

One good boy, comin’ right up!

They’re reserved for you until September 20th!

@valtroix

One moment he’s in the sky- wings spread wide and wind flowing around him. A courier job like this one is nothing special. Even if the documents are confidential- important- he doesn’t really care. It’s his job to deliver them safely and that’s it. Usually he doesn’t have trouble on his runs. No one stops him. No one tries to prevent him from going anywhere- at least not with any sort of force. Perhaps he’s been lucky in the past.

Because he certainly isn’t this time.

Arrows are extraordinarily painful. Maybe his kind are just thin-skinned, bones brittle. He doesn’t deal well with the sudden searing feeling- the trickle of blood. His mind reels with it- wings fluttering back with another hit. He doesn’t even register the number of arrows. By the time there’s a third he’s already lost most of his ability to think. He’s spiraling down- down down and suddenly he’s on the ground. He can hear the snapping sound- feel the pain associated with it. 

But he barely stays around long enough for it to matter. It’s excruciating- horrible, but it only lasts for a moment. He’s breathing hard- clawing the ground- his clothing as he struggles to pull himself from the ever encroaching darkness. He doesn’t escape it, though. Doesn’t manage to pull himself away quickly enough.

And things are black in a matter of moments.

His vision starts to blur in, but he’s groggy. It isn’t until the pain hits that he starts to recall what happened- to flash into how he’s feeling and fill the holes in. His mind reels yet again as he tries to jolt upward- wing screeching at him with the motion. He yelps- curling in on himself for a moment. He lets out shaky breaths- body following along with the action. He manages to crack his eye open- nerves gnawing at him with his pain. One eye is still black- visionless. He blinks, but only gets a jolt of pain from the dark eye in response.

It’s now he finally manages to pull himself to look around the room. A stranger’s place- nowhere he’s been before. He assumed those that shot him would kill him, but instead he’s here... His open eye widens has he looks around- breathing still far to quick. His head is hurting- everything is. What is this? Why is he here? Was he brought here? It doesn’t seem right for the people who shot him down. It seems a bit odd that he would be brought here... He had assumed he would just die. Why... Isn’t he just dead?

He chokes on his own voice for a moment. His vision is still not fully stable, but he won’t let it stop him. He starts to try to move- tries to force himself to do something but that wing is still sending jolts through his body. It stings at the slightest move. He recalls the crack and his eye widens yet again. It’s broken. It has to be. He winces at that and moves a hand to rest against his face.

And then the worst part hits him. 

His mask is gone. He shivers- grips at his clothing as his breath catches in his throat. Where is it? Where did it go? He needs it, now. If he’s seen it will be catastrophic. His broken wing, his eye, the throbbing pains in body, none of that matters. Without his mask he runs a high chance of facing excommunication- dishonor. He can feel a cold sweat breaking out. Pain and fear are mixing into some nasty concoction.

It’s then he finally sees the figure in the corner of his eyes. His mind doesn’t process exactly what that means and he jerks his head to the side. He stares at the stranger head on- eyes wide as he does. His claws dig into the sheets-  breathing picking up yet again into it’s far too quick pace. He bares his teeth- eyes almost starting to water. It hits him then and only then. It’s too late. He’s been seen.

He drops his head- covers his eyes with one hand as he tries to stop the feeling that’s hitting him. It’s over isn’t it? He’s ruined everything with his own foolish actions. What should he even do? What can he do? He removes his hand- feathers standing up slightly more as he glares.

@valtroix

He’s good at making mistakes. That is a fact that has followed him his whole life- chased him like a persistent dog on the hunt. He doesn’t mind it. As far as he’s concerned, he probably deserves it. The mistakes are a part of what makes him such a failure- a mess. He doesn’t think there’s something any more wrong with that then the rest of him, honestly. He’s, in his own, a mistake. He’s really only existing out of apathy or laziness. Something like that.

But he doesn’t want to think of this as a mistake. Show isn’t a mistake. He tells himself that often enough that it’s deeply ingrained in his mind. When the older man insisted on some sort of trip to celebration Zitao’s birthday, it was almost difficult for Tao to understand why. He hasn’t celebrated his birthday in years. He doesn’t think of it as hardly anything important. Who would want to celebrate his birth? Certainly not him. He doesn’t have any reason to celebrate his existence. But being with Show? He... can’t deny that he’s happy about. If Show deems him somehow important enough to celebrate, he can’t bring himself to say no. So he agreed- plainly enough.