#wingspans

Batch - Guardian Wingspans 1

Baby Cassian: I’m Cassian and you can call me... anytime *winks with both eyes*

I just suddenly remembered that you need at least a x3 wingspan to body height ratio in order to lift off, and that guy could barely get off the ground. And that the average ratio is x4 to x5. Beings higher help you, though, if you have a x6 or above. By that point your wings are too large for your body, and your wings are liable to tear off your body if you try to fly with them.

From Slow Burn

More Chapter: 1 2 

Dinners at the House of Wind slowly became one of Elain’s favorite occurrences. Back when she was human, dinners in their hovel were always meager and somber. When they moved to the estate it was always just she and Nesta. Elain loved her sister, but Nesta wasn’t exactly the best at making conversation. Now, dinners were fun. The conversations were entertaining and kept her enthralled. Elain was mostly quiet; however, she enjoyed occasionally chiming into the banter that whipped across the table. Plus, the food as always delicious.

It was almost as if everyone had assigned seats now that Elain and Nesta had joined the inner circle. Rhys and Feyre always sat across from her, Feyre would sit next to Nesta, Cassian next to Nesta at the head of the table. Opposite Cassian sat Amren, while Mor sat on Cassian’s left. Next to her was Azriel, and always without fail Elain found a spot next to the Shadowsinger.

In the beginning, she had clung to Azriel like a lifeline. She had no control of when the visions would come and being next to him made her feel more grounded. He could always tell when one came over her, and would listen intently. Every time he would ask her questions and help her make sense of it all. She craved the steadiness he gave her.

Now, she just enjoyed his company more than anything or anyone else. They had even gotten to the point where they wordlessly passed food to each other. Elain had never been a fan of tomatoes, but Azriel loved them, so she would pass them onto his plate instead. Azriel would in turn give her any strawberries or blackberries. He didn’t like the seeds getting stuck in his teeth.

Their dinner tonight was trout from the Sidra wrapped in prosciutto with a pistachio pesto, roasted broccoli, steamed brussels sprouts, and potatoes with rosemary. Amren, who was still getting used to being truly Fae, was the only one at the table that had a plate of just lamb chops, still practically bleeding. Amren scowled when anyone suggested that she try to eat some vegetables. Her palate hadn’t quite grown that far yet.

Elain was so full she still had a quarter of her fish and most of the potatoes still left on her plate. Azriel was about to fork the bit of trout off her plate when a red-tinged mist pulled her plate to the other side of the table.

“Very mature, Cassian,” huffed Azriel.

“Well, I didn’t see you ask before you went for her food,” Cassian taunted.

Mor rolled her eyes, “We have a system, Cassian. Azriel gets Elain’s leftovers, you get Nesta’s.”

Cassian cut his eyes to the woman sitting next to him, down at her empty plate, then back at Mor. Pointedly, he dumped Elain’s food onto his plate.

Azriel just shook his head and leaned back in his chair, throwing an arm around the back of Elain’s. This was Elain’s favorite part; when they had all finished, but didn’t want to leave this handsome bubble of post-dinner happiness. Elain tuned out the conversation in her blissful state, focusing only on the presence of those around her.

Elain drew herself back into the conversation when she heard Nesta, who looked at Cassian still stuffing his face, say, “You’re a pig. You’d think that someone who talks about their looks so much would be more concerned with how much went in their mouth.”

Cassian, with food still in his mouth, winking at her he said, “It takes a lot of energy to carry the biggest wingspan, Sweetheart.”

When she heard a collective groan from all the others at the table, Elain’s brow scrunched.

“But Azriel has the biggest wingspan.”

Rhys choked on his wine, Cassian coughed up the food in his mouth, Mor murmured “Oh, Caldron,” all while Amren chuckled delightfully. Nesta looked at her in stunned silence, Feyre was trying not to laugh while smacking Rhys on the back. She turned to look at Azriel in confusion to see his face had gone completely red.

Glancing at her sideways he cleared his throat and winced, “He didn’t literally mean wingspan, Sunshine.”

“Then what did he mean?”

Silence answered her while, Feyre and Mor met eyes. Elain was wondering why it was such a big deal, what horrible faux paus she had committed, when Feyre finally spoke.

“Well, um… Illyrians have this thing about their wingspan size relating to the size of, you know…” stammered Feyre. Mor finished, “…uh, a different body part.”

Elain blanked, having no idea what they were talking about. Why couldn’t they just say that they were referring to. Unless… Oh.

Elain felt her face heat when she realized exactly what they were talking about. She covered her face with her hands. A self-deprecating laugh bubbled from her and she whispered, “Oh Mother, that’s so embarrassing.”  

She heard Azriel whisper with a smile in his voice, “I’m flattered, El. Really.”

Elain looked at Azriel with a pretend glare, and jabbed him playfully in the side, making him laugh.

She heard Cassian across the table say, “I’d be happy to prove it right now. Interested in finding out who would win, Ness?”

Nesta glared at him, “I’d be surprised if you had anything down there to measure, bat.”

Cassian threw a hand over his heart, feigning pain and looked at Elain with mirthful eyes.

Elain pretended to consider him, then said, “I bet 20 gold marks Az still wins.”

Stunned silence and gaping mouths turned her way, then everyone boomed with laughter.

Rhys’ groaned and leaned over the table, “Oh, innocent Elain, I’m going to be sick.”

Azriel, with his arm still around her chair and a blush still staining his cheeks, chuckled, “Well, who are any of us to argue with a seer?”