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esp_dragonFandom: Original
Summary: There were two universal facts in Russell's life: nothing interesting ever happened in it, and he had always wanted to fly.
Rating: M
Notes: Rated for swearing.
Dark setting/theme. Definitely another break from my usual genre.
Very, very cliché, but it wanted to be written.
My ability to describe people fails yet again. D:
=/ My paragraphs are really, really weird.
And I'd thought this was 2,000 words. Huh.
Genre: Supernatural/Horror
Word count: 3,178
Status: Complete
Russell had always wanted to fly. To soar amongst the clouds, to feel the breeze over open-spread wings. To be equal to the dragons, the griffins, at least in that.
But he had been born a human, a grounded creature. The closest he could get to flying would be boxed in with other humans as they travelled in an airplane or something similar. And even if he did become a pilot, it just wasn't the same as flying under your own power, the wind at your face, so there was no point in going for it.
There was no way he could ask the magical beings to let him ride on them - if he was lucky, they would only kill him and nothing more, before or after.
He hated it.
He watched as the world went by, but he felt no impact from it. Things happened to other people -interesting things- but not to him.
Never to him.
Joe had been promoted twice in one year for the hard work and creativity he'd displayed; he was now across the sea on holiday, meeting with... who knew. There hadn't been any contact from him since he'd left the country.
Forgotten him, like everyone else had.
Chloé had been away for six months already, exploring some ancient magical ruin about some race that no-one knew had even existed until she'd stumbled across it. And how could he forget Mark, who'd gotten himself noticed at his local football team, and was now starting his career as a professional footballer.
That was just how his life went. Nothing interesting ever happened to him.
* * *
Another day, another early morning shift. No change whatsoever to his regular routine, but since when had he expected anything different?
Except there was someone else in the room with him. Seeing the smartly dressed man sitting in one of his chairs (the one that he'd always used because it made him feel important with its soft cushions) Russell scrabbled away, wide awake now, half shoving his duvet away in his haste to put as much distance between them, half pulling it towards him, as if it could somehow be used to protect him.
"No, no," the man said smoothly, making a calming gesture, smiling softly at him, "I'm not going to hurt you - quite the opposite in fact." He held up a small glass tube about the length and breadth of Russell's middle finger, filled with green liquid. "I'm here to give you something."
Ha. Haha. Right. Like nearly all human myths, legends and stories didn't have that as the moral of the tale. Don't trust anything that tries to make an offer with you - it'll make everything so much worse.
"And what would I have to pay for it?" he scoffed. Or attempted to scoff. It sounded more like he'd squeaked. Now that he was upright and unable to go any further, his back firmly up against the room's corner, the only thing he could do was put his full attention to the stranger. The man was slouched back, his right fist under his cheek as his elbow sat on the armrest. He wore expensive clothing; Russell could tell that much from how well they fitted him and how new they looked. As for what the makes were, Russell didn't know. His skin was a tanned light brown, and his dark hair was short enough to look like neat, though it was on the verge of outgrowing that.
He at least looked human, but there were a lot of shape-shifters in the world, quite a few of them more than willing enough to amuse themselves with tricking humans. Russell's apartment had been warded against most things -with the obligatory exception of if you invited them in- but the building was new, cheap. The magic had been slapped on, and most of them had probably faded already.
The stranger tilted his head, the smile slanting as well. "Not even going to ask my name?" he teased, voice light. "It's Dale, by the way. And no, you would pay nothing for it," he said, shaking his head. "It's free."
Which obviously meant that it would be something else that would go wrong.
A sigh, Dale rolling his eyes. "If you must know, it's a one-time deal; you drink this, you grow your wings for an hour or two, you lose them. That's it."
At the word 'wings' Russell started. It would give him the ability to fly? Russell stared at him, even warier than before, but another part wanted to know, wanted to believe that it was just a simple deal. But it couldn't be that. Couldn't. Because how had he known that that was exactly what his dream was?
Russell had never told anyone, sure that he would be laughed at.
"Okay," Dale said with a fluid shrug when he didn't say anything in reply. "I'll just leave it here," -the tube tapped against the wooden table- "and you can choose what you do with it at your leisure."
Frozen, Russell watched the man leave the room, closing the door with a final click. He strained to hear anything else, but it was completely silent.
Minutes passed, and it was only when he was absolutely sure that Dale -if that was his real name, which was doubtful- wasn't going to come back that Russell moved, breathing a shaky sigh of relief. It took him longer still for his muscles to relax completely. Only then did he glance at the unassuming tube.
The liquid wasn't quite the solid colour that he had originally thought it was - there was a twisting lime green cloud within it that kept moving, regardless of how long the tube had been standing there for.
That was when he noticed what time it was.
"Shit."
If he didn't start getting his ass in gear now, he was going to be late.
As he rushed about his apartment, his eyes kept being drawn to the tube, as if by magic. Which could be entirely true.
But he didn't have the time to do anything about it right now.
He'd deal with it when he got back.
* * *
The door closed behind him, and Russell leaned on it, sighing. Work had been hectic as normal, but it seemed like it had been even busier than usual. He stayed there for a few seconds before pushing himself away and making his way to his bedroom.
As soon as he had stepped through though, his eyes zeroed in on the glass tube, exactly where it had been left.
He stopped, his stomach dropping to somewhere past his shoes and all the warmth in his body vanished. Somehow, he'd forgotten about it, the day's events pushing it to the back of his mind.
He should just bin it. That was the best and most obvious solution.
But he'd do that after he'd changed and had dinner.
* * *
When Russell woke up the next morning, the first thing he looked at was the tube. Staring at it didn't make it disappear, exactly like it hadn't the night before.
He'd made the excuse -and he was perfectly aware that it was an excuse- that he couldn't make the decision because he was too tired. And now that he was awake, he didn't have any time to spare because he needed to go to work.
It was just... Later. Of course he was going to bin it. It wasn't as if... He wanted to fly -obviously he did; it'd been his dream his entire life- but a few hours of having that come true wasn't worth taking the risk.
So he knew what his decision was; he just hadn't followed through with it yet. It'd be a simple thing to do, nothing that needed much thought. So, really, it didn't matter whether he did it now or later. Because either way, it would still end up spilled and broken at the bottom of some rubbish tip.
And he really needed to get ready for work now.
* * *
Every single spare moment at work had been spent thinking about the tube. It was disturbing just how much it made its way into his thoughts over and over again.
He'd bought some temporary wards on the way home at least, but they were a bit useless, because for all he knew, Dale really was a human so they'd have absolutely no effect on him. Russell checked the lock on his door one last time before stepping away, but he'd been sure that it had been locked back then.
Russell entered his bedroom and dumped himself in the chair next to his table. The tube was right there, by his fingertips. With just a small flick, he could send it tumbling to the ground. But the floor was covered by a thin carpet so it might not break, and if it did, he'd have to clean up the mess and then try and work out how to get green out of beige.
Just... He could get rid of it later.
* * *
With a groan, Russell blearily looked at the clock. It was past the time the alarm was supposed to go off, and the characters next to the digits proclaimed that today was a Saturday.
Which meant he could get rid of the tube properly now. He slowly got up and felt a tightening in his stomach as he did so.
After he'd had breakfast.
* * *
The tube was light in his hand, feeling extremely delicate. It shouldn't have been surprising, but it was. Inside it, the liquid seemed to shimmer under the sunlight and it moved it like it was a little thicker than water.
It was just a one-time deal, and he didn't have to pay for it. A free chance to feel what it was like to really fly, even if it was only for a few hours. It didn't matter to him if no-one knew (that hadn't been given as a rule, but it was better to assume that it was, rather than not to). The memory would last his entire lifetime.
Clenching suddenly clammy fingers around the tube, his heart thudding in his chest, Russell left his apartment and headed up the stairs, towards the roof.
Outside, the sun was high in the sky, warming him as soon as he stepped out of the shadows. The sky looked strange to him, so open. It had been a while since he'd seen it without it being encompassed by buildings, being too busy to go to a high place, or just not caring about it. There were still a couple of buildings that towered above him, but they weren't reducing the sky to a thin strip.
He hesitated for a few seconds before he unscrewed the lid and downed the liquid in one gulp. It tingled as it went down and the feeling swelled after it had hit his stomach. Soon, his entire body was buzzing. It started to fade after a few seconds, first from his hands and feet, travelling slowly in until it was concentrated on his back, at the shoulder blades.
Damn, he'd forgotten about his shirt; the wings -it had to be- were going to burst through it. Before his hands had even moved, his back was arching as every muscle there tensed without warning, a gasp ripping from his lungs.
Then he could feel it. He could feel something sprouting from his back, could feel when it bypassed his shirt like it didn't exist, could feel them grow and grow and grow. He could also feel every feather as it formed, the action creating a faint itchy feeling as it happened. Then something connected, and he was no longer just feeling, but he was also controlling. In disbelief, he straightened himself out, shaking his head.
It wasn't anything like he imagined.
Russell hadn't known what to expect, but the wings were heavy - and as soon as he'd thought that, they rearranged themselves so that they weren't hanging limply off his back, but were held close to his body. Consciously, he tried to extend them and they did. Moving them was like instinct, that he just knew what to do.
Giddy, he flapped them and was delighted to see them do exactly as he wanted. He then drew his wings around him like a shield, blotting out the sun. They were large enough to cover him easily, the white pinions brushing his ankles and Russell marvelled at the soft texture of the feathers. When he brushed his fingers through them, the wings shivered and he felt a ticklish sensation in response.
Taking a deep breath, he folded them back, the whole world seeming far brighter than before.
He couldn't stop grinning, and his heart was no longer thudding in his chest but it was now dancing, adrenaline and anticipation singing through his veins. If this was what he was like with just the wings, what was he going to be like when he was actually flying?
His grin widened as far as it could go.
Only one way to find out.
He wouldn't go to the roof's edge -that was just stupid- so he did the only thing he could think of: he jumped as high as he could. And it worked.
His wings snapped out and beat powerfully at the air, pulling him steadily upwards. Russell watched the ground get further and further away, a sense of awe exploding within him. This - It couldn't be happening. But it was. He really was flying.
Once he reached a certain height, his wings stretched out fully and then he was gliding over the city, his body angling itself of its own accord. It was wonderful. He could feel every adjustment the wings took, taking advantage of every bit of hot air there was. There was no noise apart from the wind, and that was probably one of the best things about this. Up here, it felt like he was the only person in the whole world. And the world looked pretty small at this distance.
He didn't know how long he'd been in the sky for, but after a while, he decided that he should turn back and try to find home. It would be bad if his wings went while he was still in the air. His wings banked to the left, and then he was gliding the way he came.
The roof that he eventually landed on, he wasn't sure if it was his own or not but that didn't matter. The landing had been anything but graceful, his legs buckling as soon as he touched down. He felt like he'd ran a marathon, his legs no better than wet paper.
"How was it?"
Turning his head, Russell saw Dale leaning on the wall closest to him, his arms loosely crossed. "I - amazing," Russell breathed. The world was tipping from side to side, the colours brightening until it hurt to look at them, but that was just his head buzzing from everything that had happened.
"Good," Dale all but purred, stepping lightly towards him. "So, how hungry are you?"
Actually, now that he was thinking about it, he was feeling pretty ravenous. Okay, more than ravenous, like his stomach was trying to digest itself and it was already halfway through. But, he'd had breakfast, and it hadn't been that long since then...
Dale chuckled as he neared him, his smile and gait turning predatory. Through the haziness, Russell mustered enough sense to feel wary. Something was going to happen, and whatever it was, it wasn't good.
"Did you know that a bird's bone structure is different from, say, a human's so that they can fly?" Dale asked.
Russell didn't answer, an arm wrapped around his torso as the feeling of hunger grew. He really needed food - it felt like he was going to collapse very soon.
"No? Then I guess you weren't wondering how you were able to fly."
Magic. It was magic. Of course it was. There was no other force in the world that could make wings grow out of nowhere. And that wasn't answering the question. He flew because of the wings that came from the magic. Yeah.
The man hummed. "Maybe I should rephrase that: where do you think the muscle, bone, and everything else for your wings came from?"
Russell froze, his mind halting as it gave him the answer. Himself? That couldn't be - the wings were too big; unless he'd been hollowed - he stopped that thought there. It was magic; it could be entirely too possible.
That was when his wings snapped open again, feeling like every single pore in them was being stabbed with a burning hot needle. Just as he was opening his mouth to scream, Dale was suddenly right there in front of him, a hand clamping his jaw shut, fingers digging in to his skin. Russell was then slammed in to the ground, his wings crushed beneath him.
He desperately tried to shove the other man away but his hands were collected with far too much ease before he could get a proper hit in. They were then pinned down above his head with enough force that it felt like his bones were going to break.
"Ah-ah, wouldn't want you to be drawing attention, now would we?" Dale smirked down at him as he straddled his hips, adjusting his grip on Russell's wrists and mouth with the new angle. Russell thrashed, but it was useless; he may as well have been trying to lift a truck by himself.
The pain was increasing by every passing second. His wings felt as if their skin was being ripped off repeatedly, over and over again, acid being poured on them at the same time. The hand covering his mouth was so tight he couldn't get a breath out, couldn't move his head; all he could do was shriek in his throat, the sound escaping his nose with a high-pitched whine. He was completely and utterly helpless, unable to do anything but let the torture continue.
It hurt it hurt it hurt and it wasn't stopping and when he thought he couldn't take any more it got even worse and why couldn't it - make it stop. Please please make it stop!
Then it withdrew, fading, an emptiness left in its wake. The aftermath of the pain was still there however, pulsating within him. Almost gently, Dale lifted his hands away. All Russell could do was breathe shallowly, shuddering as Dale's weight left him, sobbing. The reek of blood was heavy in the air. He wanted to curl up in a ball, but his muscles wouldn't obey him, couldn't do much more than twitch.
Tired. Exhausted, was what he was. Wrung out.
He heard footsteps echo around him, but the world was brightening harshly, and then it whitened out.
______________________________________________________________________________________
Those three people Russell knew? Also met someone similar to Dale, but more going along the lines of The Monkey's Paw. Joe was found out to have been plagiarising, Chloé died (possibly about a few weeks in) in the ruins because of a trap, and Mark either died because of drink-/drug-driving after the celebration or he suffered from a massive injury in the first game that he played.
I know that I drew some inspiration about where the material for the wings came from from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ickaimp's Guard Dog series.
Summary: There were two universal facts in Russell's life: nothing interesting ever happened in it, and he had always wanted to fly.
Rating: M
Notes: Rated for swearing.
Dark setting/theme. Definitely another break from my usual genre.
Very, very cliché, but it wanted to be written.
My ability to describe people fails yet again. D:
=/ My paragraphs are really, really weird.
And I'd thought this was 2,000 words. Huh.
Genre: Supernatural/Horror
Word count: 3,178
Status: Complete
Russell had always wanted to fly. To soar amongst the clouds, to feel the breeze over open-spread wings. To be equal to the dragons, the griffins, at least in that.
But he had been born a human, a grounded creature. The closest he could get to flying would be boxed in with other humans as they travelled in an airplane or something similar. And even if he did become a pilot, it just wasn't the same as flying under your own power, the wind at your face, so there was no point in going for it.
There was no way he could ask the magical beings to let him ride on them - if he was lucky, they would only kill him and nothing more, before or after.
He hated it.
He watched as the world went by, but he felt no impact from it. Things happened to other people -interesting things- but not to him.
Never to him.
Joe had been promoted twice in one year for the hard work and creativity he'd displayed; he was now across the sea on holiday, meeting with... who knew. There hadn't been any contact from him since he'd left the country.
Forgotten him, like everyone else had.
Chloé had been away for six months already, exploring some ancient magical ruin about some race that no-one knew had even existed until she'd stumbled across it. And how could he forget Mark, who'd gotten himself noticed at his local football team, and was now starting his career as a professional footballer.
That was just how his life went. Nothing interesting ever happened to him.
Another day, another early morning shift. No change whatsoever to his regular routine, but since when had he expected anything different?
Except there was someone else in the room with him. Seeing the smartly dressed man sitting in one of his chairs (the one that he'd always used because it made him feel important with its soft cushions) Russell scrabbled away, wide awake now, half shoving his duvet away in his haste to put as much distance between them, half pulling it towards him, as if it could somehow be used to protect him.
"No, no," the man said smoothly, making a calming gesture, smiling softly at him, "I'm not going to hurt you - quite the opposite in fact." He held up a small glass tube about the length and breadth of Russell's middle finger, filled with green liquid. "I'm here to give you something."
Ha. Haha. Right. Like nearly all human myths, legends and stories didn't have that as the moral of the tale. Don't trust anything that tries to make an offer with you - it'll make everything so much worse.
"And what would I have to pay for it?" he scoffed. Or attempted to scoff. It sounded more like he'd squeaked. Now that he was upright and unable to go any further, his back firmly up against the room's corner, the only thing he could do was put his full attention to the stranger. The man was slouched back, his right fist under his cheek as his elbow sat on the armrest. He wore expensive clothing; Russell could tell that much from how well they fitted him and how new they looked. As for what the makes were, Russell didn't know. His skin was a tanned light brown, and his dark hair was short enough to look like neat, though it was on the verge of outgrowing that.
He at least looked human, but there were a lot of shape-shifters in the world, quite a few of them more than willing enough to amuse themselves with tricking humans. Russell's apartment had been warded against most things -with the obligatory exception of if you invited them in- but the building was new, cheap. The magic had been slapped on, and most of them had probably faded already.
The stranger tilted his head, the smile slanting as well. "Not even going to ask my name?" he teased, voice light. "It's Dale, by the way. And no, you would pay nothing for it," he said, shaking his head. "It's free."
Which obviously meant that it would be something else that would go wrong.
A sigh, Dale rolling his eyes. "If you must know, it's a one-time deal; you drink this, you grow your wings for an hour or two, you lose them. That's it."
At the word 'wings' Russell started. It would give him the ability to fly? Russell stared at him, even warier than before, but another part wanted to know, wanted to believe that it was just a simple deal. But it couldn't be that. Couldn't. Because how had he known that that was exactly what his dream was?
Russell had never told anyone, sure that he would be laughed at.
"Okay," Dale said with a fluid shrug when he didn't say anything in reply. "I'll just leave it here," -the tube tapped against the wooden table- "and you can choose what you do with it at your leisure."
Frozen, Russell watched the man leave the room, closing the door with a final click. He strained to hear anything else, but it was completely silent.
Minutes passed, and it was only when he was absolutely sure that Dale -if that was his real name, which was doubtful- wasn't going to come back that Russell moved, breathing a shaky sigh of relief. It took him longer still for his muscles to relax completely. Only then did he glance at the unassuming tube.
The liquid wasn't quite the solid colour that he had originally thought it was - there was a twisting lime green cloud within it that kept moving, regardless of how long the tube had been standing there for.
That was when he noticed what time it was.
"Shit."
If he didn't start getting his ass in gear now, he was going to be late.
As he rushed about his apartment, his eyes kept being drawn to the tube, as if by magic. Which could be entirely true.
But he didn't have the time to do anything about it right now.
He'd deal with it when he got back.
The door closed behind him, and Russell leaned on it, sighing. Work had been hectic as normal, but it seemed like it had been even busier than usual. He stayed there for a few seconds before pushing himself away and making his way to his bedroom.
As soon as he had stepped through though, his eyes zeroed in on the glass tube, exactly where it had been left.
He stopped, his stomach dropping to somewhere past his shoes and all the warmth in his body vanished. Somehow, he'd forgotten about it, the day's events pushing it to the back of his mind.
He should just bin it. That was the best and most obvious solution.
But he'd do that after he'd changed and had dinner.
When Russell woke up the next morning, the first thing he looked at was the tube. Staring at it didn't make it disappear, exactly like it hadn't the night before.
He'd made the excuse -and he was perfectly aware that it was an excuse- that he couldn't make the decision because he was too tired. And now that he was awake, he didn't have any time to spare because he needed to go to work.
It was just... Later. Of course he was going to bin it. It wasn't as if... He wanted to fly -obviously he did; it'd been his dream his entire life- but a few hours of having that come true wasn't worth taking the risk.
So he knew what his decision was; he just hadn't followed through with it yet. It'd be a simple thing to do, nothing that needed much thought. So, really, it didn't matter whether he did it now or later. Because either way, it would still end up spilled and broken at the bottom of some rubbish tip.
And he really needed to get ready for work now.
Every single spare moment at work had been spent thinking about the tube. It was disturbing just how much it made its way into his thoughts over and over again.
He'd bought some temporary wards on the way home at least, but they were a bit useless, because for all he knew, Dale really was a human so they'd have absolutely no effect on him. Russell checked the lock on his door one last time before stepping away, but he'd been sure that it had been locked back then.
Russell entered his bedroom and dumped himself in the chair next to his table. The tube was right there, by his fingertips. With just a small flick, he could send it tumbling to the ground. But the floor was covered by a thin carpet so it might not break, and if it did, he'd have to clean up the mess and then try and work out how to get green out of beige.
Just... He could get rid of it later.
With a groan, Russell blearily looked at the clock. It was past the time the alarm was supposed to go off, and the characters next to the digits proclaimed that today was a Saturday.
Which meant he could get rid of the tube properly now. He slowly got up and felt a tightening in his stomach as he did so.
After he'd had breakfast.
The tube was light in his hand, feeling extremely delicate. It shouldn't have been surprising, but it was. Inside it, the liquid seemed to shimmer under the sunlight and it moved it like it was a little thicker than water.
It was just a one-time deal, and he didn't have to pay for it. A free chance to feel what it was like to really fly, even if it was only for a few hours. It didn't matter to him if no-one knew (that hadn't been given as a rule, but it was better to assume that it was, rather than not to). The memory would last his entire lifetime.
Clenching suddenly clammy fingers around the tube, his heart thudding in his chest, Russell left his apartment and headed up the stairs, towards the roof.
Outside, the sun was high in the sky, warming him as soon as he stepped out of the shadows. The sky looked strange to him, so open. It had been a while since he'd seen it without it being encompassed by buildings, being too busy to go to a high place, or just not caring about it. There were still a couple of buildings that towered above him, but they weren't reducing the sky to a thin strip.
He hesitated for a few seconds before he unscrewed the lid and downed the liquid in one gulp. It tingled as it went down and the feeling swelled after it had hit his stomach. Soon, his entire body was buzzing. It started to fade after a few seconds, first from his hands and feet, travelling slowly in until it was concentrated on his back, at the shoulder blades.
Damn, he'd forgotten about his shirt; the wings -it had to be- were going to burst through it. Before his hands had even moved, his back was arching as every muscle there tensed without warning, a gasp ripping from his lungs.
Then he could feel it. He could feel something sprouting from his back, could feel when it bypassed his shirt like it didn't exist, could feel them grow and grow and grow. He could also feel every feather as it formed, the action creating a faint itchy feeling as it happened. Then something connected, and he was no longer just feeling, but he was also controlling. In disbelief, he straightened himself out, shaking his head.
It wasn't anything like he imagined.
Russell hadn't known what to expect, but the wings were heavy - and as soon as he'd thought that, they rearranged themselves so that they weren't hanging limply off his back, but were held close to his body. Consciously, he tried to extend them and they did. Moving them was like instinct, that he just knew what to do.
Giddy, he flapped them and was delighted to see them do exactly as he wanted. He then drew his wings around him like a shield, blotting out the sun. They were large enough to cover him easily, the white pinions brushing his ankles and Russell marvelled at the soft texture of the feathers. When he brushed his fingers through them, the wings shivered and he felt a ticklish sensation in response.
Taking a deep breath, he folded them back, the whole world seeming far brighter than before.
He couldn't stop grinning, and his heart was no longer thudding in his chest but it was now dancing, adrenaline and anticipation singing through his veins. If this was what he was like with just the wings, what was he going to be like when he was actually flying?
His grin widened as far as it could go.
Only one way to find out.
He wouldn't go to the roof's edge -that was just stupid- so he did the only thing he could think of: he jumped as high as he could. And it worked.
His wings snapped out and beat powerfully at the air, pulling him steadily upwards. Russell watched the ground get further and further away, a sense of awe exploding within him. This - It couldn't be happening. But it was. He really was flying.
Once he reached a certain height, his wings stretched out fully and then he was gliding over the city, his body angling itself of its own accord. It was wonderful. He could feel every adjustment the wings took, taking advantage of every bit of hot air there was. There was no noise apart from the wind, and that was probably one of the best things about this. Up here, it felt like he was the only person in the whole world. And the world looked pretty small at this distance.
He didn't know how long he'd been in the sky for, but after a while, he decided that he should turn back and try to find home. It would be bad if his wings went while he was still in the air. His wings banked to the left, and then he was gliding the way he came.
The roof that he eventually landed on, he wasn't sure if it was his own or not but that didn't matter. The landing had been anything but graceful, his legs buckling as soon as he touched down. He felt like he'd ran a marathon, his legs no better than wet paper.
"How was it?"
Turning his head, Russell saw Dale leaning on the wall closest to him, his arms loosely crossed. "I - amazing," Russell breathed. The world was tipping from side to side, the colours brightening until it hurt to look at them, but that was just his head buzzing from everything that had happened.
"Good," Dale all but purred, stepping lightly towards him. "So, how hungry are you?"
Actually, now that he was thinking about it, he was feeling pretty ravenous. Okay, more than ravenous, like his stomach was trying to digest itself and it was already halfway through. But, he'd had breakfast, and it hadn't been that long since then...
Dale chuckled as he neared him, his smile and gait turning predatory. Through the haziness, Russell mustered enough sense to feel wary. Something was going to happen, and whatever it was, it wasn't good.
"Did you know that a bird's bone structure is different from, say, a human's so that they can fly?" Dale asked.
Russell didn't answer, an arm wrapped around his torso as the feeling of hunger grew. He really needed food - it felt like he was going to collapse very soon.
"No? Then I guess you weren't wondering how you were able to fly."
Magic. It was magic. Of course it was. There was no other force in the world that could make wings grow out of nowhere. And that wasn't answering the question. He flew because of the wings that came from the magic. Yeah.
The man hummed. "Maybe I should rephrase that: where do you think the muscle, bone, and everything else for your wings came from?"
Russell froze, his mind halting as it gave him the answer. Himself? That couldn't be - the wings were too big; unless he'd been hollowed - he stopped that thought there. It was magic; it could be entirely too possible.
That was when his wings snapped open again, feeling like every single pore in them was being stabbed with a burning hot needle. Just as he was opening his mouth to scream, Dale was suddenly right there in front of him, a hand clamping his jaw shut, fingers digging in to his skin. Russell was then slammed in to the ground, his wings crushed beneath him.
He desperately tried to shove the other man away but his hands were collected with far too much ease before he could get a proper hit in. They were then pinned down above his head with enough force that it felt like his bones were going to break.
"Ah-ah, wouldn't want you to be drawing attention, now would we?" Dale smirked down at him as he straddled his hips, adjusting his grip on Russell's wrists and mouth with the new angle. Russell thrashed, but it was useless; he may as well have been trying to lift a truck by himself.
The pain was increasing by every passing second. His wings felt as if their skin was being ripped off repeatedly, over and over again, acid being poured on them at the same time. The hand covering his mouth was so tight he couldn't get a breath out, couldn't move his head; all he could do was shriek in his throat, the sound escaping his nose with a high-pitched whine. He was completely and utterly helpless, unable to do anything but let the torture continue.
It hurt it hurt it hurt and it wasn't stopping and when he thought he couldn't take any more it got even worse and why couldn't it - make it stop. Please please make it stop!
Then it withdrew, fading, an emptiness left in its wake. The aftermath of the pain was still there however, pulsating within him. Almost gently, Dale lifted his hands away. All Russell could do was breathe shallowly, shuddering as Dale's weight left him, sobbing. The reek of blood was heavy in the air. He wanted to curl up in a ball, but his muscles wouldn't obey him, couldn't do much more than twitch.
Tired. Exhausted, was what he was. Wrung out.
He heard footsteps echo around him, but the world was brightening harshly, and then it whitened out.
Those three people Russell knew? Also met someone similar to Dale, but more going along the lines of The Monkey's Paw. Joe was found out to have been plagiarising, Chloé died (possibly about a few weeks in) in the ruins because of a trap, and Mark either died because of drink-/drug-driving after the celebration or he suffered from a massive injury in the first game that he played.
I know that I drew some inspiration about where the material for the wings came from from
ickaimp's Guard Dog series.