Desmond Miles (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shutupandgetintheanimus) wrote2015-02-23 05:34 pm
shutupandgetintheanimus) wrote2015-02-23 05:34 pm
Get Thee To An Aviary (closed to 1605gunpowderplot)
Desmond remembered the orb. The electric pains shooting up his arm, into his shoulders and back, the pulaes that made his legs shake and his teeth chatter. How he was able to focus, to bend the damn thing to his will and make it raise the shields that the precursors left behind, he didn't know. He was out after that. He thought he heard Juno, briefly, then the others. Then nothing. Nothing but the most dreamless, restful sleep he'd had in a long time.
Juno and Minerva had been wrong. He was still alive. But the deep, throbbing pain in his back and shoulders that greeted him as he awakened? He wished they'd been right.
He groaned, eyes half-lidded as he lifted his head off the pillow. He'd been sleeping on his stomach. "Fuck..." he croaked out. His throat was dry, lips cracked. His brain was still in a haze of too much sleep and not enough food or water. He attempted to push himself up off the mattress, to get his bearings, but the tingling pain in his right arm and the stiffness in his shoulders nipped that idea in the bud. Desmond winced as he lowered himself back down.
At the very least he managed to pry his eyes open enough to stare at the bandages wrapped around his arm. It had been burned, he remembered. Not as bad as it could have been, probably. Still, second-degree burns weren't fun.
Juno and Minerva had been wrong. He was still alive. But the deep, throbbing pain in his back and shoulders that greeted him as he awakened? He wished they'd been right.
He groaned, eyes half-lidded as he lifted his head off the pillow. He'd been sleeping on his stomach. "Fuck..." he croaked out. His throat was dry, lips cracked. His brain was still in a haze of too much sleep and not enough food or water. He attempted to push himself up off the mattress, to get his bearings, but the tingling pain in his right arm and the stiffness in his shoulders nipped that idea in the bud. Desmond winced as he lowered himself back down.
At the very least he managed to pry his eyes open enough to stare at the bandages wrapped around his arm. It had been burned, he remembered. Not as bad as it could have been, probably. Still, second-degree burns weren't fun.
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Shaun went back to his chair, tucking his wings in and trying to look as though he wasn't staring, because it was still a bit difficult to actually believe that he was actually witnessing this. He couldn't even begin to imagine what it actually felt like, other than 'probably quite awful.' "And the good news is that you don't have to worry about buying anyone gifts until next year, so you get to skip on the annual mass hysteria that is holiday consumerism. It's the twenty-sixth."
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He rolled an apple towards him, taking a large bite of it as he eyed Shaun. "You're not worried? I'm pretty sure mockingbirds get eaten a lot. Or...I don't know. I can't exactly read anyone's minds in the Animus. Do Avians sometimes...think like birds, too?"
It was healthy to be afraid of people like Altair and Ezio on principle. Never mind if the passerine types were edgy around them on instinct. If Shaun was going to end up being edgy around him because of this bullshit, he didn't think he could stand it. He was already dreading how the change would handle his throat. Shaun sounded like a bird enough when he slept; Desmond didn't want to end up eating the same words he'd teased Shaun with.
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In all likelihood, there would probably be a few misunderstandings if Desmond really did end up a raptor--avians were supposed to learn from a young age how to deal with their more birdlike impulses and to properly fit in with the rest of society. Desmond would have no practice at it, no previous experience to help him keep his reactions in check. But Shaun was confident enough in his own self control, and he rather thought it was highly unlikely that he'd shriek and dive for cover at the first sign of aggression.
His lips quirked up as he settled a little further, feathers finally starting to ease back into place as he watched Desmond eat. So far it didn't seem as though the change was as bad as it could have potentially been, though he wasn't going to declare the worst over just yet. "It's not like we have a desire to eat worms or anything mad like that, yeah? But there'll be certain behaviors that you'll have to acclimate to. Preening, for one. Raptors aren't as necessarily as social as other types tend to be, though, so you'll find yourself getting a bit territorial, I'd bet. It's probably a good thing Bill isn't one, too."
Not that they got along well in the first place. "You can always do a few internet searches. I'd stay away from certain keywords unless you're really curious, but I likely don't need to tell you that."
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Desmond put the demolished apple core aside. He felt better, at least. Not about to pass out. "I already know about the raptor guy on Youtube recording his hunts on deer and PETA freaking out about it, if that's what you're wondering. What keywords do I have to look out for?"
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He glanced down at the remains of what he'd offered Desmond and wondered faintly if he hadn't spoken too soon about that cannibalism business. He'd torn through everything Shaun had given him in a matter of minutes, and the historian was betting that if they'd had more on hand, it would have already vanished into Desmond's every-expanding stomach as well. "If you're just looking into practical matters, you at least ought to known how to take care of your own feathers. And you can finally learn to share my distaste of tiny shower stalls, so there's that to look forward to."
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He reached for the last apple, running his thumb over the skin. He'd save this one for later. "Besides, I know how to preen feathers. Mom taught me so I could help her. Don't get me started about tiny shower stalls, they already piss me off."
A sharp pain cut through the comfortable haze of the Vicodin, first making him stiffen, then curl his lip back in a grimace. Like being stabbed in the shoulders over and over again with a sharp knife. From the inside. He reached back, pressed against one of the lumps. They were solid. Actual, fully formed bone already. In the span of....thirty minutes? Forty-five? "W-what...fuck...how fast...?"
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He paused to roll his chair closer to the bed again, craning his neck and raising a dubious eyebrow at the way Desmond's back had started to deform. "And, er... perhaps it's a good thing you can't see what's going on very clearly. Just, er. Try to ignore it, I suppose."
That was probably utterly unhelpful and Shaun needed to distract from the transformation again, in case that anticipated panic actually began. "So, your mother's an avian? That's handy, at least you won't be completely in the dark with how this all works."
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It looked worse. The wing bones were outlined against Desmond's skin. Growing underneath. Hopefully they would separate out like a newborn's...or maybe that trip to an Assassin-friendly hospital would be needed after all.
Desmond took a deep breath as the surge of pain faded. "Y-yeah. She's...Dad mentioned she's in the field somewhere, back in the temple." but dammit, he wanted to see her more than anything right now. He wouldn't admit it to Shaun, but he was terrified out of his mind. And wanting his mom like an equally terrified five year old.
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Shaun leaned forward again, almost like he wanted to go over and wrap a wing around Desmond, to actually make the attempt to soothe him like he might a frightened chick, but actually doing so was an action that never materialized. For one thing, it would have been intensely awkward for them both, but it didn't stop him from feeling entirely useless and unhelpful just sitting by and watching like he expected Desmond to keel over at any second.
Still. He was trying to distract the man, no use wallowing in his own inability to meaningfully assist with this particular problem. Shaun twitched his wing back again from where it had sneakily started moving away from where he'd tucked it behind him only moments ago, and tried for a casual shrug. "I suppose now that it's all over, there's nothing stopping you from going and looking her up, yeah? As far as I know, we've actually got a bit of time on our hands at the moment. Might even have time for a real vacation."
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It's going too fast. I can feel them growing... Jesus Christ these things are going to kill me.
"He... He never got a real burial, not really. He's still there. He never left Masyaf."
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His options had become rather limited, at this point, and though it felt extremely weird to do so, Shaun pushed off from the chair and grabbed for the pills again before clambering onto the bed himself and arranging himself in front of Desmond, legs folded and wings half spread as if the internal temptation to wrap them around his fellow Assassin had decided to follow through on that impulse without his brain's permission.
"Keep breathing, you're fine--" He probably wasn't at all, but Shaun knew that saying so likely wouldn't help at this point, and if they could manage a bizarre sort of denial for the time being maybe it would help. "And while I agree that Masyaf could be a fascinating place to visit, I was thinking more along the lines of beaches and warm climates and free drinks, yeah?"
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He wasn't fine. Not really. And he suspected Shaun knew that. "Yeah. Yeah, I could go for a beach. Just sit in the bar and down four mojitos." He laughed. It was bitter, strained. "If these damn things don't kill me first."
It slowed, finally. The pain. The sensations of bone and muscle growing, changing. It all quieted, lay dormant. A look at Desmond's deformed back would be the proof. The wings sat in his back in enormous lumps, folded up awkwardly under his skin. But at least it was stopped.
Desmond relaxed slowly. He leaned forward to alleviate the ache in his back, his head almost touching Shaun's chest. "...Call my dad," he managed to choke out. "Please."
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"Right. Your dad. Of course." Shit. He'd been apparently doing worse than he'd thought about being reassuring, and Shaun's estimation of his own skills had been dismally low from the start.
He fumbled the phone from his trouser pocket and dialed, trying to to stare too much at the way Desmond's back had deformed, which left looking up at the ceiling as his best choice. He'd be damned if he was going to admit to being scared, though, and Shaun's voice was as normal and even as he could manage under the circumstances.
"It's Shaun. Yes, obviously, I wouldn't--it's just that your son is awake." He paused, and reached out to pat Desmond's head, soft and entirely too awkward, but he knew what the conversation must sound like from Desmond's perspective as Bill started to demand answers in his ear. "There are some complications. Not life-threatening, no, but you ought to head back as soon as possible."