Plan A

Angel was hammering away at a sheet of scrap metal when the altercation at the front of the shop caught his attention. He pulled away from the heated metal he had been reforming for his future bike and shoved his goggles up to the his forward. The Avian yelped and smacked a hand to his face when a spark from the fire in front of him landed on his cheek. Abandoning his forging equipment, Angel shrugged off the heavy duty apron draped over his wings to check on Osvald.

The older man seemed to be leaned over his sales counter, his face reddened and flustered with frustration. Angel opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut when he caught sight of his employer’s expression. An angry Osvald was not a fun Osvald. Across from the counter stood a sharp-dressed and balding man with a carefree expression. His eyes slid to watch Angel, freezing the young Avian in place.

“There he is!” the business man cried out, a dead-eyed grin breaking out across his face. “We were just talking about you! The man of the hour! Come here, sport!”

A frown drew itself across Angel’s features. “Uhhh…” The Avian backed behind Osvald’s shorter figure and attempted to make himself smaller. His eyes just peered over the older man’s soot-stained shoulder. “Who is this?” Angel asked.

Before Osvald could respond, the man clapped his hands together and kept talking. “The name doesn’t matter. I just caught wind that a young Avian was owned by the tinkerer here, and I was just coming by to buy you-”

Osvald looked ready to defend Angel, this not being the first time someone had tried to buy him. But before he could speak, the young Avian straightened his back and approached the counter separating himself from the business man with a stern expression upon his face.

He flared his wings out aggressively, successfully startling the man into a short backpedal. “I am not for sale,” Angel gritted through his teeth. He took another step closer and bared his teeth. “I am an independent being. I can’t fly and I can’t use magic. So spread that around your damned inner circle of disgusting slavers. I’m not any use to you.”

The balding man’s grin faltered before quickly being replaced by a much more forced one. He chuckled lightly, saying, “I don’t think you understand-”

Angel vaulted himself over the counter and inserted his presence into the man’s personal bubble. “I don’t think you understand! It’s because of people like you that I’ll never know my mother. You think I’m a complacent little boy? I’m an adult, you jackass!” He snapped his teeth at the man, who squirmed uncomfortably towards the exit. “If so much as one of you slavers comes after me, I will personally hunt you down. I’ll chain you up and keep you in my basement. Let’s see how you like it. I’ll let people pay me to f**k you-”

“Angel! That’s enough.” Osvald barked, his worry for his worker’s well being overcoming his fear of the boy’s sudden outburst.

Angel stopped approaching the cowering man, but held his pose of flared wings and bared teeth. He waited until the man turned tail and shot out of the store before he returned to face Osvald. The Avian’s wings slumped against his back, just beginning to ache from being held in such stretched positions. He heaved a heavy sigh, tiredly climbing over the counter.

“What was that? I didn’t know you could be so… aggressive,” said Osvald.

The teen shook his head, casting his eyes to the ashen floor. “S-sorry. I don’t know where that came from. I’m just a little frustrated with life right now. And it seemed like a good time to vent - though I wasn’t expecting it to get that vulgar. Maybe it’ll keep away any more slavers that heard about our downtown biking incident.”

“I certainly hope so. You look exhausted.”

Angel rolled his wings, looking at Osvald with a tired expression. “I am. I mean that whole, uh, altercation was rough on my wing muscles. But I’m tired in general. I haven’t been sleeping well; I stay up thinking about life. I know I can work it out if I just… get all the little things figured out.”

Osvald seemed a little uncomfortable, as if a philosophical debate may start up and he’d have to express opinion. He moved around the sales counter, locking the front door before following his worker to the back. “How about we use the rest of the day to work on that bike of your’s.” The older man watched as the Avian only nodded silently. “I know it’s confusing for you. And I know we’re not real helpful. You have to understand: When you were born, there was a fair amount known about Avians, but we just weren’t sure what to expect with you. Would you be able to use magic? Would your wings develop normally? We felt lost without Motya - she was our fearless leader, you know. But you know we’re here for you anyway.”

For several long beats of silence, the man simply watched Angel’s tensed back. Then the boy seemed to crack and his shoulders slumped. He half turned to his employer and cleared his throat. When he spoke, he almost sounded emotional. “I know,” he whispered. “And I’m really thankful of that. I am,” he said, a small smile splitting his features. “Because you didn't need to keep me. You could have sold me or given me away. So I’m glad I have you and Line. I just need to figure how I feel about myself, you know?”

Angel and Osvald worked on the boy’s motorbike for the rest of the day until the sun started setting. They decided to put up early. Because the Avian didn’t have his cloak, they reasoned that it would probably be safer if he took main roads and travelled by daylight. Osvald’s bike no longer functioned, so he would have to walk alone as well, but in the opposite direction.

At the back door, Angel bid his employer a good night as he started his trek back home. He was quick to find a populated street. There he received a lot of looks, but no one seemed willing to attack him. At one point he realized he was being closely followed. In an attempt to hide his shaking knees, he put on his best mean face and silently turned to face his stalker.

The man, dressed in neutral, nondescript clothes stopped and acted like he had to tie his shoe. When he straightened up and realized Angel was still looking - glaring - at him, he wordlessly made a u-turn and left the area. The teen continued on his way, his body tensed from his jaw to his legs to keep his look of confidence up and his real fear down.

By the time he had reached the edge of the lower class district, Angel’s confidence had grown to be a small seed of truth. He entered the poorer district with his head held high. After many complicated twists and turns down the poorly laid roads, the boy found himself marching towards his home - it was in sight now - when he heard a voice behind him.

It sounded much like the sloppy slur of a drunken man, so that’s what he expected. The figure swaying towards him was covered in layers of tattered clothes and a filth covering his hands and face like a homeless man, so that’s what he expected. The stranger raised his bottle of absinthe in a toast, so that’s what he expected.

What Angel didn’t expect was for that bottle to come crashing down on his skull hard enough to knock him out. Which, of course, is how he ended up splayed spread-eagle across the cobblestone drive.

From behind a corner that led to a tight alley, Karp and his small companion watched the kidnapping. Blending in with the dimly lit street, the man pulled his hat over his eyes. “Do you think knocking him out was strictly necessary?”

“I don’t know what you expected,” the girl muttered. She released a heavy sigh, and the man who had knocked Angel out changed in appearance. His tattered clothes and filthy skin disappeared like paint being washed away to reveal even dirtier skin and the heavy clothes of a tinkerer. “I mean, you asked Radomir of all people to do this.”

The tinkerer turned to the concealed pair, bending at the knee to get in a wide stance and send them an exaggerated thumbs up.

Karp scoffed. “I’d have done it, but you’re terrible at shrouding me.”

“That hurts, Karp.”

The tall man looked down to the small girl, grimacing when he saw her pout. “Don’t start that. Now act your age; we have work to do.”

As the pair left the safety of the shadows to approach the fallen Avian, a faint blue glow emanated from his chest. Radomir stopped his happy dance to watch the boy’s fallen form, slowly backing away. “You said he didn’t have magic,” he growled in a thick voice.

“He doesn’t! Er- he can’t! He wasn’t born by Gaia.” The girl whispered.

Behind her, Karp retreated to the cover of the Alley, fearing someone would see him by the light of the gradually brightening shine coming from Angel. The girl watched in rapture as the winged boy slowly came to his feet like a puppet being pulled by strings. The glowing in his chest stopped, but when he opened his eyes, a bright blue light poured out.

“Zinaida!” Karp cried. “Get back,” he called to her.

Angel raised his hand, palm facing Radomir’s slowly retreating figure. Just as the tinkerer turned to run, a ball of pure energy shot from his open palm. It made a beeline for Radomir, slamming into his back and knocking him flat on his face before dissipating into the night air.

Karp snapped his head from Radomir to Zinaida, readying himself to lunge at her and protect her. Before he could act, there was a flash of bright light and Angel was gone.

Zinaida stared at the spot Angel had been standing only moments ago, her hair flying back from the gust of air shot off by the half-Avian’s teleportation.

Author's Note

Come one, I know you have an opinion about it. Say something. It's like reading a book to a kid who just stares at you. No reaction, no emotion, no comments. And kids are full of comments.

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