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Summary
The bird, an eagle, lands on his shoulder with dignity and grace. Her feathers are a wise burgundy streaked with black and draped over long, sturdy wing bones meant for unhappy travels. Her beak is broad and keen, a hunting prick that pecks between the layers of jumpy meat. When she’s not dining, she’s sending a message. Familiarity sparks distantly in her eyes, and she drops the thin scroll in her mouth onto his calloused palm.
“Trouble in paradise, eh Fervor?” he asks while prying the thing open. Fervor, who never visits you when things are fine and good, nods her plumy head. The peaceful silence of the outskirts isn’t a promise; danger’s either rearing itself here, or behind your back.
Not one soul in the Big Orange has time for words. The paper squeezes to one end: grip marks. Neat print, but it’s been written in a hurry.
Earl’s in trouble. Delicate situation.
Casino brat’s at it again. Hurry.
- MGuest takes a particularly sharp drag of his cigar, allowing nicotine to bury into his lungs, work sweet magic in his brain and quell the surge of hot anger that blooms in his chest.
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Bookmark Notes:
BRO. 🥹🙏