Heyo! As writer of this little fic I'd like to make a few things crystal clear, yeah?
One;; I own nothing but the mini plot and Soray " Soar" Thomas. Maximum Ride and all it's wonderful characters belongs to James Patterson!
Two;; Nestling is what comes after Fang. Of course, it comes in Fang's point of view AND Soar's point of view. If he sounds outta character why don't you drop by and leave a message.
Three;; Please read, review, and favorite if you enjoy!
Fang's POV;;
Leaving Max was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. No bruises, broken bones, or gushing wounds could amount to the pain I felt as I left that note. It was like my heart was trying to push it's way out of my chest and punctured in the process.
Flying didn't seem to relax me as it always did. Feeling the wind under my wings only reminded me of the flock and of what it'd be like without them. Silent.
Adjusting my height and direction was simple with the tip of a wing. Moving more North-east I had the United States all mapped out. I'd decided there was only one place where it'd be loud, crowded, and at all the same time I could be alone. New York City.
It was true when people said that New York was the city that never slept. People continued to walk along the sidewalk and cars continued to race along in a large line of traffic. Nothing like the noise of busy people to fill that empty void in my head.
It was easy to find an empty alleyway and tuck my wings up before moving out and onto the sidewalk. Tugging at the collar of my jacket I took a quick glance around. Neon signs flickered and the street was dirty with trash and bums. Max would be tense and ready to spring the moment they landed.
The though faded as I began to walk and take in the surroundings. Over time the bars and night clubs smoothed into apartments and empty buildings. If they weren't empty and full of rats I would have taken the option with least worries, the empty buildings. However, I was tired of living like that and opted on an apartment.
Soar's POVHe arrived in the strangest of manners.
I awoke to the sound of a ringing bell. My father was crashed on the couch with a beer bottle in his hand. I must have fallen asleep mid clean up. The room was still a mess and covered in old bottles, cans, and empty pizza boxes.
When clean and fresh my father was bright and kind. His thin hair and glasses were signs of warmth and comfort in my life. It was easy to forgive the hard nights and clean up the empty bottles once he drifted asleep. Hence, he became a daily chore.
Making my way to the front counter next store I passed the trash and dropped off the newest empty six-pack. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes and making the effort to rub off the stains on my jeans I glanced through the doorway.
There he stood. A dark figure with his hand placed on the counter. His dark hair covered his eyes and needed to be trimmed. His jacket collar was tucked against neck and was a reminder of how cold it was at night.
With cautious steps I approached the counter. He didn't appear to be threatening or dangerous though his posture spoke otherwise.
"Can I help you?" My voice was quiet and followed with a yawn. Nobody came so late in the night. Taking a glance at the clock I learned it wasn't that late. In fact, it was early morning.
His voice screamed mystery even though his statement was blunt and short.
"I need a place to stay." The thought sent my head into a mad giggle. He needed a place to stay? Of course, why else would he come to a low level apartment? Taking a look around I found a small sheet with the list of people and which room was whose.
The only open space was right next my rented room. When I wasn't looking after my father I spent time making money on my own and taking upstairs space. That way I could look after my father and not feel so dependent.
"Do you have enough money to pay the rent?" It was a question we asked everyone not that it mattered. The first payment wasn't due until after their first week there. Sometimes my father agreed to wait a little longer.
"Is this enough?" He placed a wad of bills on the counter and almost caused me to stop breathing. How stupid was he to carry all that money around? Taking hold of it I pushed it back into his hands and whispered.
"You can't just pull out a huge wad of cash! You know how many people would love to beat you up for it?" He slipped it into his pocket with a faint smirk. It was like he knew he could beat up anyone who tried. With a sigh I reached out to grab hold of his collar in order to whisper something. Instead I found myself with my arm twisted behind my back and facing opposite of the counter. My face twisted in agony and I let out a silent cry.
"Don't touch me." His voice was full of anger and held mistrust. Obviously it appeared like I was going to hurt him.
I nodded quickly and begged for release. A sigh escaped as his hard grip was gone and I could bring my arm to my chest. Turning I stared at the teen and almost had the urge to tell him to leave.
However, my gaze was met with dark eyes and I thought against it. His face was full of pain itself and revealed a sadness I didn't think was possible.
"Alright." My voice sounded weak compared to his. Grabbing a set of keys I walked passed the counter and over to the stairs.
"Follow me." He nodded in silence and traced my path up the stairs. Once we were three flights up I stopped and walked four doors down. His room was number 14A.
The door was a solid mass of wood and only the jiggling doorknob showed signs of age. With a few tries I managed to unlock the door and open it for him to walk inside. Once he walked in I followed and switched on the lights. The dim bulb soon brightened and revealed a small single bed, dresser, and tiny bathroom. It was home to most people.
He removed a black backpack from his shoulder and placed it on the dresser. Turning he gazed at me through the light, waiting. I watched him and placed a single key on the quilted bed.
"This is the only key so don't lose it. I don't want my father or I being bothered at odd hours to open a door just because you forgot your key. My room is next door if you have any questions."
I suppose he didn't need that information but gave it to him anyway. For some reason I knew it might come in handy some day. With that I turned and pulled the door behind me. Before it closed I heard a small murmur that sounded just like a, 'thank you.'
I understand it was a tad short however I figured it was a good starting note.
I have a small idea of what shall occur between this mysterious teen and our heroine. However, if you think you've got a bright idea I don't mind hearing it!
Perhaps you could assist me in finding a dangerous villain and his henchmen?
Love,
DearPanic