CHAPTER ONE: This title would've been some cliché reference to flying anyway
I sighed deeply and stretched my wings out against my shoulder blades. It felt nice to do that, to bask like this without worries. It's something that came not very often in my world.
"Jack!" Someone called my name from across the beach, "Jack, are you awake?"
I snapped up, and all of a sudden, I was back in the house again. Damn, I hated when my dreams tricked me like that. Groaning, I sat up in bed slowly and used my wings to prop myself up; I was not a good morning person. Waking up…just wasn't one of my high-points.
I wondered briefly if I would ever see that beach in real life. Ugh, whatever. Probably wasn't worth my time thinking or obsessing about it anyway. I had better things to obsess about.
"G'morning, Ralph." I yawned. The smell of breakfast wafted from the kitchen as the blonde pulled the sheets off my bed indignantly. He looked cross. When didn't he look cross?
"Good afternoon, Jack." Ralph said back, rather pointedly. My heart sank.
"I did it again, didn't I?" I asked, "I slept in too late."
"It doesn't matter." Ralph muttered.
"But it does." I retorted, "Next time, wake me up earlier."
"Just go get breakfast. If there's any left, that is. I swear, you guys eat so much it's ridiculous. You're going to eat us all broke."
"Haha." I chuckled lightly, still too tired to muster a full one. Ralph had been taking care of us since before I could remember. By us, of course, I meant human-bird mutants. Why wouldn't I mean human-bird mutants? Unlike us, Ralph was normal. Just a human boy, trying to make a living on his own, and support us, at the same time. We did everything we could to help, but he insisted on treating us like pampered pets. He gave us everything, and we had nothing to give back in return. I often found myself puzzling over this. How could someone be so nice? If it were me, I'd have kicked everyone's ass out a long time ago.
Stretching briskly, I slipped on a ratty t-shirt and wandered into the kitchen. The sound of the TV filled my ears, and I had to resist the urge to give the video-gamers in the living room a good knocking on the head. I gave them an angry look though; it was, unfortunately, wasted. Simon and Maurice were devoted to the glimmering screen, shouting in frustration every now and then when they lost. Simon, less so. He was much too 'civilized' for that.
I sat down at the bar and grabbed a plate of food that had already been set for me: bacon and eggs in heaping piles. We all had a hefty appetite, and I was finished within a minute's time. Ralph came back to the kitchen from tidying up Maurice and my room, and grimaced.
"The kitchen is a mess too." He sighed through a smile, "Am I destined to clean up messes forever?"
"Kick us out then." I managed with a mouth-full of food.
"I've thought about it enough." Ralph laughed.
"Aw, you know you could never get rid of us, me in particular." I teased, pulling my best puppy face, "I mean, just look at me. I'm too handsome to live on the streets."
"The street's the last place you'd go, you know that, right?" Ralph whispered, leaning forward a bit more to avoid being heard in the other room by the absent-minded video game players. He clearly didn't find any humor in my last statement; that or he was avoiding the topic. I didn't care which one it was. "They'd find you…maybe kill you. I would never let that happen."
He was much too sympathetic and full of pity for my tastes sometimes. I smirked and pushed away from the bar, disposing my now-empty plate in the sink on the counter across from me.
"Don't worry." I brushed off, "The school hasn't been after us for years, Ralph. I doubt they even care anymore. About us, I mean. We'll probably never see another nasty, wolf mug of theirs ever again."
"I highly doubt that." Ralph called across the counters. I shrugged and jumped over the couch, landing on the other side on the cushions with a soft crash. Settling in, I watched the screen with detached interest as Simon slaughtered Maurice at Modern Warfare 3. Roger, next to me, laughed.
"You guys never get any better." He muttered darkly, watching the screen intently, "You have to learn by watching." He was leaned forward slightly, with the screen glistening and reflecting off of his too-red irises. Roger folded his hands and re-folded them, his thoughts turning and re-turning. I could see him thinking every move through, every flick of the C-stick, every click of the bumpers. Nothing got past Roger; it was just a gift of his. He could determine everything that was going to happen in a battle simply by observing situations and mannerisms. If he knew you, he could kill you in battle.
A lot of us mutants had gifts similar to his kind. Simon, for instance, was a kind of necromancer. He could talk to the dead through his dreams, stuff like that. He could also do this freaky thing where he 'communed with nature' and made plants and shit do these weird rituals and crap. I'm not sure what good that did anybody, but whatever. Maurice, on the other hand, gave off an emotional aura of happiness. You could put two arch-rivals next to him and within minutes, they'd be making out. It was like magic. Of course, it didn't work on Roger. Nothing worked on Roger; he was an impregnable fortress of terror and bullshit ideology.
"What's the score?" I asked nonchalantly.
"Two to ten, Simon's winning!" Maurice exclaimed loudly, "I'll beat him though, just you watch!" I he got overly excited, his wings unfolded and knocked over the glasses sitting on the coffee table behind him. Roger jolted out of the way in disgust.
"Can't you contain yourself, Maurice?" He grumbled.
"No, sorry!" Maurice shot back, not tearing his eyes from the screen. Simon was silent. He didn't say much.
"I'll clean it up." I offered, eager for the distraction. I bent down and picked up the glasses, using my sleeve to rub out the water that had been spilled. Ralph came over only a minute later and took the glasses from my hands with a sigh, rolling his eyes.
"I could've given you a paper towel, you know that, right?" He pointed out.
"Nah, I didn't want to trouble you."
"humph." Ralph breathed, "It would've been no problem." He sat next to me and began to help me with the cleaning, setting the glasses once more on the table. I heard Maurice stifle a laugh.
"Hey, stop that!" I yelled at him. There was no reply. Suddenly, a sheath of pitch-dark feathers blackened my vision and tickled my nose. I sneezed and pushed them away, only to be confronted with Roger, not two inches away. He wore the same, monotone expression as usual. I jumped back in surprise.
"Everyone knows you don't need Maurice's interference for this, Merridew." He teased in a flat, shallow tone. Then, after a moment's pause, he laughed wickedly and doubled back, nimbly balancing on sofa's farthest arm with his wings partially outstretched. Thank God he had the sense to keep them in at least part of the way; I would've really killed him if he stretched them out all the way. He would've punched holes in Ralph's tiny apartment walls.
"Roger, you're lucky you have freaky, super-human mind-melding powers." I shot at him.
"And you're human?" He retorted through an aggravated frown, "Plus, I could kick any of your asses any day of the week, with our without 'mind-melding powers'…whatever the fuck those are."
"I don't know what else you could call it." Simon piped up for once, "It's perplexing, what you're capable of. I only wish I understood it more."
"Oh, fuck off, Simon." Roger snorted, indignantly folding in his shadowy feathers with a huff and starting out of the apartment. "I'm going for a fly. See you fuckers later."
He slammed the door behind him.
Ralph sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, sitting upright on the carpet. I almost felt like doing the same.
"Hey," I tried comforting, "At least he's wearing clothes this time. It seems like every other time he's stormed out like this, he forgets one more article of clothing."
"Hehe." Maurice chuckled, "My personal favorite was when he forgot his pants."
"Yeah, it's hard to forget about that." Simon queasily picked up, "…you never let anyone forget…"
"Oh, knock it off!" Ralph reprimanded. They both shut their mouths for once. They knew who fed them, and they didn't want to piss him off. "Don't you also forget that every time he leaves like that, it puts all of you in danger? If someone sees him like that, everything's ruined!" He seemed really upset.
"Hey, don't worry about it." I smiled, "it's fine, I'm sure. Roger just needs to burn some steam, that's all."
"Yeah, well that steam could kill all of you, and you obviously don't care!" Ralph crossed his arms and grimaced, "When he gets back, one of you has to talk to him, or else I will!"
"I guess I'll talk to him." I sighed, resigned to my fate of a horrible death by Roger's hand. I fluffed up my bright orange wings to prepare for the coming cold, winter fury that would surely come my way. It pulled my shirt uncomfortably against my chest.
"Thanks." Ralph gratefully said. He took up the glasses once more and took them to the kitchen, turning the tap on and running the water over their surfaces. I could hear it all.
"Do you really think Roger's explosions like this could bring…them back?" Simon paused the game briefly to turn back and ask me. His green eyes looked up at me, almost doe-like. I wished briefly that he was old enough to understand. It's a shame that he was only like…six or something, and I couldn't tell him off more. It's also a shame that Roger's fuse was so short and he was practically a ticking time bomb of insanity, but that was a different frustration, for a different time.
"I don't know, Simon." I answered; exasperated, but telling the truth as far as I could see it. "I really don't know."