羽根を焦がす無数の鳥が (open!)

[grice]

Who: falco grice & you!
When: march & april!
Where: gestures
What: post-surgical trauma, regains, flying (and crashing), snooping, and just general prompts to keep busy with during our pause! i’ll be adding more investigation oriented prompts later as well! absolutely free to tag in super late or backtag forever until may! hmu at liberos if you’d like to plot something specific and i’d adore to write a fresh starter for us!
Warnings: body horror, traumatic surgical descriptions, torture, aot spoilers, mentions of war imagery, will update as things happen!


top levels in the comments!

🐤 MARCH 1 - 4: general prompts with falco still carrying the worst of his living island mutilation; locations include library, diners, groceries or honeybees!
🐤 MARCH 5: open to housemates, neighbors or passerbys; falco gets his jaw implants removed and seems pretty normal. maybe just a little tense about the how.
🐤 MARCH 6: open for sightings or interactions! falco uses his titan form to survey the city and check his limits.
🐤 MARCH 10 - FORWARD: includes prompts for spring cleaning and topsy turvy, as seen on the tdm! 

Comments

MARCH 6TH ONWARD

[grice]

ᴡᴀʀᴋ

[ by the evening of march 6th, a storm seems to be brewing ahead; far into santa rosita's woodland area rumbles the strike of lightning, but if one were to look— no clouds. it's a clear afternoon soon to be ebbing into dusk, and surely you'll be able to count all the stars in the sky. what you might not have been counting on hearing were massive, rhythmic claps above and overhead. it blocks out the remaining sunset (or moon, depending on the time) and doesn't make a sounding cry beyond its wings that jarred like thunder with each beat. it's a golden-white bird that could've been larger than it was, a scary thought, at eight feet with a wingspan twice its height. winds brew and clatter phone lines, wood groans with protest or even hats get caught in the miniature gusts made from its survey. oh, what a lovely bird! neighbors might say if you ask, as if talking about a backyard finch. naturally, they don't notice a thing out of the ordinary (and probably don't want to).

after the sixth, the bird will only occasionally and rarely soar at roughly the same time, but it isn't impossible. try and flag it down, follow, or scream. it might react more than you think. ]

[undiagnosed]

[it's towards the end of the month archer sees the bird again, swooping low near where he's in the back garden attempting to teach his dog how to go for the crotch of a possible home invader. so far he's managed to get it to drop the new bone he got - progrerss? kind of. not really.

then a huge shadow falls over them. maybe the bird itself isn't all that big, but... you know. shadows.

he sits back and takes a long drink of his mimosa, watching it slowly circle closer with an irritated squint. dog (still haven't decided on a name, though bandit and hooper are up there) looks up and starts barking, clearly alarmed. guess that confirms it's real, at least.

he pulls his handgun down when he sees it getting lower - disguised drone, maybe? town dragon? - and fires.

get fucked, bird.]

[grice]

[ the small pop of a pistol down below would’ve barely been heard thanks to the roar of winds by his ears, and perhaps not even the pain would’ve stopped falco from gliding (titans don’t feel pain when it’s not inflicted on their true bodies)— his arm reacts oddly when he bends his wings into another clap to climb away from the houses, though— it refuses to bend the way he needs it to. a look sideways easily catches a hole that stains golden feathers red, the inside joint of the ulna and digits fissure and cracks with force of his attempted beat. it doesn’t hurt, but he’s far smaller than he’s used to: larger than shaquille o’neal by a foot and more prone to external damage, unlike the massive five meters that would hardly feel the dent.

the bird barks, and begins to descend while holding a glide that would have to do for an emergency landing like a plane shutting off its motors and piloting on luck, skill and the wind. it looks like he’s eying archer’s backyard to make the final touch down, especially with how low he was, sticking out feathered legs and taloned feet—

only non-neighbors would realize something odd enough to shoot at it, and all he knows about that particular house is the dog he hears barking. ]

[undiagnosed]

[nice. that shot was kind of a rough one, but he did it! man, archer is amazing. he watches the bird wobble in the air and struggle, though he's slightly confused by the fact it didn't seem to really notice the shot at first. can they brainwash birds, now? they can't. right? they can't.

he's been in and seen enough plane crashes to realise what's happening and how its gliding to a stop rather than just shrieking and dropping out the sky like he'd expected and-- jesus. archer's eye sight must be getting pretty shitty because that thing is way bigger than he expected and--

oh. shit. fuck. it's clearly aiming for the yard he's currently in. fuck!

archer would shoot again, but he's distracted getting his dog back inside. that bird could definitely eat... whatever the dog's name is.]

[grice]

[ low enough to aim well, the bird's descent switches to a forward throw of feet to reach for the ground, a flare of tail feathers with grand flaps of its wings to halt its speed into a hover. each flap brings gusts, woosh, woosh, woosh until touchdown is made and its flaws, hidden at the middle-edge of the limbs could hit the ground for balance. dragon was not a far away suspicious when he looks like a feathered wyvern from up close, but it has rounded human ears and a mass of blond hair that meshed with the rest of its golden plumage. the wound shot into it seethes with steam and coughs out the bullet lodged between bone fragments, and quickly begins to seal shut. the evidence of blood, too, evaporates.

all while it begins to bat walk, slowly, toward the house's point of bustling. ]

[undiagnosed]

Well, that's definitely not real. [stupid dog was probably barking at a fox, or something. it's too much like some of the bigger aliens in his, uh, space-themed coma dream. he flips his gun around so he's holding the barrel then

smacks himself on the side of the head with the butt of it.

hard enough that he flops back into the chair, briefly blacked out.

he just hit the snooze button. it's fine.]

[grice]

[ —oh, dear, had the bird-thing briefly reached out in a way grimly similar to a person wanting to stop him? maybe it was all in archer's head, anyway. now that he's out like a light, it's about time falco got out of his feathery meat suit.

not that he'll see how that actually happens. depending on the amount of time that archer is out, the remains of bone, muscle and feather are evaporating enough that neighbors might bother him later about the barbecue he had (and fireworks! pop!). falco, once out and on his human boy legs, unloads the discarded gun, slips it into its proper waist holster, annnnnnd . . . well, now it's time to tend to mister archer, starting with the ugly bruise on his temple.

luckily, he knows field first aid, and has a ready supply of gauze and ointment to start at his head. head trauma can be serious. ]

[undiagnosed]

[he's out long enough for falco to strip the world's worst fursuit and start poking around, during which he immediately snaps to and makes a good effort to try and grab falco when he's near, but completely misses and ends up flopping out the chair onto the patio instead.]

Gravity... you utter whore. [muttered, quietly. maybe it won't set off falco's alarm. he rolls over, frowning as three young blondes become one.] Why are you here?

[grice]

[ falco promptly scrambles to grab for archer before he makes his head worse— and somewhere there, their reaching mismatches. the boy rushes to his side, on his knees and is careful with his head (there was a little patch there-!), and, congrats! with all the hustle-bustle, neither his ears nor his alarm pick up on the slur. ]

Be careful, Mister Archer. [ ah, and, ] You hit your head.

[undiagnosed]

Whatever, [he says, waving falco off. he'll go to the hospital later, maybe. archer's still deciding how much of a shit he gives about his self-induced concussion. hey, it worked, though! no big bird!] so you jumped my fence? Who's your parent, I'm definitely complaining.

[grice]

[ only a kid like falco would take this sort of flippant bullshit, what a lucky man archer is. with his hands off but one still clutching a roll of gauze, he has no other choice but start putting things away in his bag. he’s also sure, fairly sure, that his “parents” wouldn’t scold him for this (which is funny because he’s inadvertently not taking archer seriously—), ]

Um, Erwin and Cassandra Smith, but . . .

[ between them, let’s just say he’d advise not to tell cassandra. she’s grown rather protective and is very good with a knife. ]

[undiagnosed]

I know the odds of you... literally being their kid, [hold on. dizzy. he wobbles a little as he pulls himself up, grasping for his cane with a grimace. god, his legs hurt. everything hurts. why bother?] is extremely low, but--

[he blanches for a moment, looking like he might barf. he doesn't.]

--if you're not a perfect mix of how stupid and annoying they both are, then I'd eat my cane.

[awkwardly, he pats falco on the back.]

Great job, kid. [asshole]

[grice]

[ with archer’s wobbles, falco holds his hands out in a steadying gesture, ready, but not daring to touch. with how much (too much) mister erwin seems to speak of archer in a similarly mean way, falco was already starting to get suspicious, but the name and the— pat? it’s more awkward than it is insulting. ]

R . . . Right.

[ what does he say do to that, frown or feel bad? he’s been called much worse, spat on the street for being born. being called stupid and annoying was just another day with gabi during the early days— the girl he wants to straight up marry.

while he’s at it, how’s his memory? ]

Did you see anything before hitting yourself, Mister Archer?

[undiagnosed]

[you know, for all his flaws, archer has never actually been filled with that much hatred. it's not something he could understand, directed towards a kid. that's... something, right? if you drop your standards into the ground. he tries a little harder because his mother made his own childhood a living hell.]

I-- [bird. giant bird. he can't say that, though, because it wasn't real. he can't and won't tell anyone about his hallucination problem.] No. Just some good old-fashioned self-abuse. You know how it goes.

[grice]

I . . . No.

[ he doesn't know how it goes, actually! archer!! but why else would he refrain from talking about a giant bird? huh, maybe if he . . . ]

Do you— need a doctor?

[undiagnosed]

I can look after myself. [clearly.] Are you going to get the hell out my garden? Or do I have to call your idiot parents?

[grice]

[ he doesn’t trust that, which is saying something. head trauma shouldn’t be taken lightly, so, falco stays planted in front of him, looking for the right words, then: ]

Can you call them, please?

[ defiant, but gentle in doing so. ]

[undiagnosed]

You are such a pain in the ass.

[he wonders if AJ is like this, then immediately regrets having a brain.

archer stands up, deliberately and staggers back to the kitchen door, letting dog out as he grabs for the stupid wrist radio with erwin's number on it. dog is delighted to see falco! archer comes back out and glares at him as he punches in the comm number.

whenever erwin picks up:] Your shitty little goblin broke into my house. Come and get it!

[13thcommander]

[Erwin is of two minds when he sees a call from Archer: he could answer, or he could ignore it. He should probably ignore it. They'd both have a better day if he ignores it.]

[But Erwin's curiosity makes the rest of him a glutton for punishment, and he answers.]

[Who the shitty little goblin could be also raises some questions. If it weren't for the blaring alarm in the background, or the fact that Levi would absolutely not stand for being spoken about that way, he'd need further clarification. But Levi's alarm has been silent through foul language and other various adult situations, so that narrows it right down.]

I'll be there in a few minutes.

[grice]

[ well, there went his alarm on both occasions. falco winces when he knows what's coming, but having getting used to the initial ringing, the rest is better ignored. at least he's not the one with a migraine to make that actually possible!

plus, there's a dog! it sniffs him and looks happy enough, so falco can't help but to kneel down and give his attention during the time he has to wait— it's better than paying any head to the words that could actually come to sting, no matter how many times he's heard them. ]

[undiagnosed]

[oh, yeah, he forgot about the alarm. the sharp blaring cuts through his migraine and he winces, putting a hand on his head.

archer doesn't actually say anything, he just tosses a toy for the dog to play with with falco. archer himself just... staggers back into the kitchen.

whatever, CHILD.]

[13thcommander]

[It should be worrying that Erwin knows exactly how to get to Archer's house by now, but he's going to tell himself it's because that's where Rapunzel lives and not because he's been there to pester Archer AND gave him a ride home once. He walks briskly on his way there, and raps smartly on the door.]

Archer? I'm here to get Falco.

[undiagnosed]

[archer throws the front door open, dishevelled and miserable as usual, looks erwin up and down then grunts noncomittally.]

Back yard. He's playing with the dog.

[13thcommander]

[Archer looks sweaty and like he's suffering from some unseen, grievous injury. So normal, for him.]

Thank you.

[If Archer doesn't want to tell him what happened, Erwin will go to the source. He lets himself in and makes his way to the backyard, where he sees Falco playing with a dog.]

So what happened over here?

[Because Erwin doubts Falco actually broke into the house. That seems more Archer's speed, frankly.]

[grice]

—Mister Erwin!

[ the dog is being nice to him, but falco can’t help but to keep sitting on the stairs leading into the house as he threw the dog his toy.he could keep an eye on archer that way, just in case he fell or passed out— the child is relieved enough to shoot up onto his feet, peer back inside the house, and: ]

I wanted to make sure Mister Archer was okay before I left? He . . . Saw a huge bird and hit himself with his gun, and when he woke up he didn’t remember the bird, so— [ genuine!!! concern!!! ] Head trauma’s really dangerous, sir. Can we check him?