The harsh light flickered on and off. The artificial light faltered and flickered, fizzling with a crackle before dying and staying there for a moment before flitting back into the light and repeating. It glinted on something slick on the ground, something smeared from one surface to the next.
Then the light fizzled out entirely.
In the grey of the miserable night a figure drifted away, slow but smiling contentedly as it made its leave. By the time the scene was left alone it was unsettling but inconspicuous.
Ella rushed through her house, mind a jumbled mess, hazy and disoriented. She could think of nothing but Max and ichigo, of their avian DNA and their stories that could fill novels. But there was also the doubt, with ichigo more so than Max, that the whole story had actually been gifted to her ears. She didn't feel as though she had been lied to, moreso that certain aspects of the truth had been withheld. She already knew about his wings, could there possibly be something worse to hide?
When she had woken up that morning she had gone into the kitchen to eat breakfast, seeing ichigo already there and wide awake, sipping on black coffee that was still steaming violently. He seemed to have either found something or been leant it by her mother as, while he leant on the counter, he read a work of Shakespeare he held high with one hand. She may have laughed a the oddness she found in the normalcy of it all but she could see a slight twitch, a flash of white, behind his back she definitely recognised from the fiasco of the day before.
Max was still asleep, crashed on the settee and looking almost as though she were going to fall onto the rug laid out on the livingroom floor. Her shoulder was wrapped tightly in bandages that would need cleaning but were certainly cleaner than the scraps of the t-shirt Valencia had gladly changed for Ichigo after tending to the wounds of the injured. Ortiz had ended up in the hospital and valencia had ended up sitting on the phone for a lengthy conversation with his parents that she seemed to enjoy none too much.
She could focus on none of that though, instead exclusively on the seemingly endless sea of oddities surrounding the two. It was almost laughable to think she was slinging the same old overstuffed school bag over her back as she always did, rushing out of the door to catch the bus at the last second as she always did, and then spending the day trying to focus on the work she would otherwise enjoy. The difference was what the distraction that may prevent that was. It had gone from the usual bullies and worry about Ortiz (though she would not deny that part still being there) to worry about illegal genetic alterations on children and two of those kids who were actually the "lucky ones" amongst such a group. The very thought was enough to make her feel slightly ill if she thought about it for too long.
Her mother had also been strange amongst the abnormal happenings. She was almost too calm and had, despite animals being her speciality, treated the wound on Max's wings with a far less than appropriate level of surprise.
The little school bus pulled up outside her house as she ran along the sidewalk, dizzy with the myriad of thoughts somersaulting around in her mind. It stopped and the local kids boarded. She ran in last, bag flying out behind her and thumping heavily onto her back when she stopped to avoid barrelling into the back of the boy in front of her.
Heavily, she fell into an empty seat, shifting across to the sat by the window and hoping no one would take the seat next to hers.
She wasn't so lucky.
She listened to the rhythmic humming of the old engine, of the dated vehicle travelling over the uneven roads. She listened to the jumbled jargon of many conversations melding into one, of music blaring too loudly from the headphones of kids who clearly had no regard for their hearing. It was comforting.
At least until they stopped again, the engine shutting off, the bus drawing to an abrupt halt and everyone instinctively quieting their conversations. A few more people piled in, all male and much larger than her. There were three of them.
Each was injured and gruff-looking, walking with an innate sense of superiority. There was also a sense of familiarity that struck her. One took a seat by a small girl who intently kept ther bespectacled eyes trained on her novel, listening to the music playing in her ears and trying to ignore the boy beside her who seemed to be occupying more of the shared seat with every passing second. Another settled himself beside the boy she had almost bumped into earlier, instantly kicking the boy's bag into the aisle as he sat and using half of the poor boy's chair in addition to his own. The other boy looked at him through narrowed eyes, gritting his teeth and quietly hissing as he seethed. He went unnoticed. The third, the one who had hurt Max before, sat next to her, not invading her space too much but ensuring she knew she could not crawl back out into the aisle by occupying the space between his chair and the one in front. He calmly and tauntingly ran his hand over a hidden pocket in his large jacket, making a noise that could almost be called a purr as he smiled with crooked teeth and narrowed eyes oe simply could not bring themselves to trust.
Nonchalantly, innocently, he swung his leg, knee hitting hers, a constant reminder of his less than welcome, imposing presence. He whispered menacingly in a hoarse voice, not phased by her presence as neither Max nor Ichigo was there to protect her. She couldn't help but think the boys would be far less cocky and overbearing if they sa even a glimpse of that telltale orange they were sure to recognise - they were bearing the evidence of their encounter.
"Not got ginger and girly here to protect you, huh?" She didn't know if she would really consider the luminous yellow of ichigo's hair ginger.
She pretended she had not heard.
Thankfully the seating arrangement did not last too long and she was soon free of the imposing presence of the delinquent bullies whom she was convinced had retaken multiple grades.
The day passed with no further complications and, by the end of the day, she found herself almost indescribably impatient to go home; she was positively itching to grill the bird-kids further.
When she got home max and ichigo were sitting side by side on the settee, not really seeming to notice each other and staring silently at the TV in front of them. The image flickered across the old unit, screen slightly fuzzy.
Max looked lost, stuck in her mind and staring blankly forwards. Ichigo looked less lost, more like he was actually listening to the TV that was playing quite quietly. She slung her bag down against the wall and looked at the TV.
It wasn't pleasant.
The news was playing, a woman with bleached blonde hair relaying the story of the latest of the murders committed by the anonymous serial killer: Kille Inconnu. It was slightly frightening to think the latest of the murders committed by the killer who was known for striking in new York had happened in Arizona, not too far from where she lived.
They had designated the victim as theirs the moment they saw the crime scene, the tell tale symbol was there, marring the mutilated body of the victim. Said victim was lying in a pool of blood that had painted the entire alleyway, most of which was not hers. Or so the news said. That left one question on the mind of every viewer. Who was this other victim?
Shrugging and tring to loosen up her shoulders, she walked into the kitchen where she was almost certain she'd find her mother. She was right.
Valencia was stood, hunched over the counter and staring intently down at a piece of paper. With a smile even she was not sure about the sincerity of, Ella waltzed over and plucked the sheet from the clean surface, holding it in front of her and reading it as she continued to spi and potter about the room so her mum could not read while she did.
"Cool," she stopped and smiled, returning the paper to her giggling mother's chosen surface "Cookies."
Valencia hummed happily "Yeah. Would you want to get Max and ichigo in here? They sound like they wouldn't be opposed to a little fun at this point."
"Max did look very bored." She reasoned "But ichigo looked kind engrossed in the news report."
"Oh." Valencia wasn't particularly aware of any teenagers who tended to find news interesting "What about."
"Murder." Ella admitted.
"Fun!" Valencia insisted, shooing her daughter.
Ella perched herself on the arm of the settee to the side of max that wasn't injured, tapping her shoulder and hoping she hadn't touched her uninjured wing, unaware of whether or not that would be considered polite in whatever weird world she had found herself being dragged into by her saviours.
"Hey."
"Hi." Max responded, turning her head from where she was staring blankly at the telly "Anything you need?"
"My mum was wondering if you'd like to help us make cookies?"
Max almost laughed "How about I watch you make cookies? Iggy's the one who usually does our cooking and he won't let me touch food unless I'm eating it."
"How about Ichigo?" Ella couldn't help but laugh a little herself.
"I don't know." She admitted "I don't know nearly as much about him as I'd like." she stood up, rolling her bad shoulder and wincing as she did so. "You're going to have to actually ask him." She sent her eyes to him, still staring intently at the woman with the bleached blonde hair as the story seemed to stretch on eternally "if you can get his attention off of that." She added as an afterthought.
Ella laughed again, still intimidated by the boy with the luminous hair. She paused by his side by a moment, hesitating with whether or not to shake him to physically jarr him from his concentrated state. She decided against it, instead choosing to reach for the remote resting by his elbow. She never reached it.
Before she knew what was happening her hand was stopped, held in place by another that had reached out almost as if on instinct.
Ichigo looked at her for a moment before sheepishly withdrawing his arm, glancing at hes briefly to be sure he hadn't gripped hard enough to bruise - he often underestimated his own strength and that was not such a bad thing in the life he had led as it may have been once.
"Sorry." he had turned his eyes away from hers to speak "If someone is trying to sneak up on me they are either my father trying to "polish my reflexes" or someone who seriously, seriously, would rather have me dead. Either way I'm kind of programmed to react and the former's not even possible anymore."
It's fine," She held her own wrist, moving t around and trying to regain some of the feeling se had lost, watching as the red marks paled and blended "I was just wondering if you'd like to make some cookies with me and my mum?"
"Surprisingly I can actually cook,"
Max interrupted him "You can?"
"Yes. My sister was better but she's younger than me, my dad can't cook for shit and you don't trust kids as young as my sisters were when my mum died around a hot oven. It was either I learn to cook, my dad burned the house down, or we ate takeout every night." He addressed Max before turning back to Ella "That said, I've never actually made cookies."
Ella gaped at him. "You're kidding?"
"Like I said, I cooked for necessity rather than baked for fun. Besides, I'm better with my local cuisine than yours."
"Local cuisine?" Ella asked.
He cocked his head "Have we not been over this? Max." he called upon her to explain.
"Talked too much for one day? It's Japan right?"
"Mmm." he confirmed
"Well that's interesting. Now, let's go teach you how to make cookies while Max watches."
Somehow Valencia had roped Max into helping, an idea that had quickly proved itself to be a bad one. Ichigo was laughing at her as she stood there, covered in cookie dough with flour dusted in her hair and smeared across her face.
"How?" he managed to ask through the complete loss of the composure she had not once seen him without.
"There's a reason Iggy won't let me touch the stove with a ten foot pole." She reasoned, waving her hands through the air and creating what was almost a fog of flour.
"Speaking of," Ichigo went back to scowling "We need to meet up with the flock again don't we?"
"Yeah. Valencia?" The woman in question hmmed when addressed, suppressing her own laughter at Max's state "When will I be able to fly again?"
"You should be good to go tomorrow morning."
"Fang's not gonna be happy." Ichigo teased.
"Do you just not realise how similar you two are sometimes?"
"We aren't." He sounded slightly taken aback at her suggestion.
"You're in denial."
"And you're covered in flour."
As the sun rose behind a series of clouds ella found herself stumbling around her house, only half awake and not entirely conscious as to why she was p so terribly early when it was a weekend. To ensure she avoided tumbling she refused to walk without one hand on the wall at all times.
To Ichigo, Max and Valencia it was a funny sight.
They were waiting for her outside, beneath the streaked sky. When she saw them, with a yawn, Ella seemed to egain her ability to process thought and memory.
Then she spent a moment staring up, entranced by the sky as it moved past leisurely, paying no attention to them or anyone else as it had no need, the sun got higher and higher. She could imagine Ichigo and Max soaring up in that sky, eventually fading into silhouettes as they flew further and further away, wingspans dwarfing their actual figures. She hadn't thought of it up until then, but they really were, should she look over their so called 'origin stories', a fair bit alike to the angels one of the flock members had chosen her name after.
Max had removed the bandage and was stretching out her wings tentatively, feeling for the bit that had been grazed and being glad when it hardly hurt at all, only slightly stinging. Te had to marvel the full beauty of the view she had earlier been deprived of, of Max's elegant hazel wings, stretched out fully, feathers ruffled by the wind, image completed by the movement of her hair as it danced along the breeze.
Ichigo watched her as she gaped, cocking and eyebrow and shrugging and rolling his shoulders. His shoulders popped as they did before before he unfurled his own wings, substantially larger than Max's as he was to her.
Ella didn't really wish to consider how uncomfortable it must be for one to have to keep wings folded as tightly as the did for as long as they did. Surely their muscles would have to be aching something terrible.
Both readied themselves to leave, to find their group of people who had similar situations to them, but ella stopped them. She delayed them with a shout "Will I see you again?"
"Can't promise." ichigo admitted.
Max picked up from his statement despite him clearly being done with it "But we can try."
The wind picked up and their wings began to beat, lifting them from the ground with steady, fluid movements that seemed as natural to them as walking to her.
Just as she predicted, their clear figures became hazy until they were mere shadows in the sky until, at last, the disappeared entirely and she was waving enthusiastically at nothing.
In the darkness of the night, it was a difficult task; to fill transportable containers with the sticky scarlet liquid that stained the ground right down to the miniscule cracks lining the pavements and the gaps beneath the raised stones. But it had to be clean.
Meticulous plans were not their favourite, neither to plan nor to carry out. But it didn't matter. It was crucial, crucial that this be executed immaculately.
It was for the greater good. The preservation would have to begin, the preservation of both bodies and blood. The secrecy must improve.
They held the containers before their face, watching as the fluid sloshed around, entranced in their viewing with a perverse amount of fascination.
The ground was perfectly clean, very little evidence left. Not that evidence mattered, for a long while they had left things to lie, purposely left clues as a test, but they had been missed by these so called professionals who had access to more technology than they knew existed. They were toying with the police before they could begin their plan, before the revolution could begin. They had been waiting tirelessly for the red to saturate the world, to drain out any other colour and replace it. It was all they wanted to see; that overwhelming colour that could cover as much as it could, that could hide so many wrongdoings but highlight overs. Just like it highlighted their own. It was evidence after all, a clue purposely left like a highlighted not on a page. They never acted without reason, they did not change that.
