little bit of this; [open]

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She closed her eyes and saw the road fall before her, long and narrow and winding, curving into the trees and out of sight. The plants fell against it and ate away at the street before her eyes, and they stretched out to her and the next thing she knew she was up high, high, high up, stretching out and nothing but the pale sky in front and no land or obstacles to cross but the wind. It roared in her ears and sounds of thunder, and as she stayed up there, elevated, the seasons changed from dragging currents to low and lazy drifts, to rainstorms that almost broke through her lifted body to fog that left her flying blind. She hated most of it when she was there, but when she rested there was the cry of freedom sweet and satisfied. Then the ghosts with strong arms and white coats reached out and broke her neck.

Tatum woke up screaming, her voice garbled with bird sounds. She choked on it and ended up coughing. She could taste blood and meat coming up as acid in her throat, almost as strong and metallic as the abandoned warship that was her sleeping place. Somehow, sleeping around other only intensified and hardened her dreams, and in all, she was really sleeping around strangers whose bloodlust she knew and didn’t know if she shared. Everything can be bred in. She uncurled from her sleeping area, taking care to shift the clothes and leaves she slept on, taking care to huddle the blanket around her and stare out at the water. Tatum always slept outside on warm nights, and inside on cold ones, and she always slept in the top compartment and as close to the sky as possible. The warship always gave her the feeling of security and easy freedom, and its empty walls and the way death and bullets just sang in her ears, it was a low, long gone sound and so enveloping it made her forget of her own cage.

Patches of sunlight from the midday sun heated up the space behind her, and wriggling around, she turned and pressed her palm against the metal, almost squawking in pain at the heat, nails pressing against it and letting it soak up her dream so that her throbbing hand was all she could think about. Tatum didn’t like to remember her dreams, and this way she didn’t get to think about them and have them stay inside her head. She knew the way the story went away, and the message just as simple. The sun looked as though it was lowering down to be head to head with her, and Tatum smiled lazily, pulling a piece of her hair to chew idly on. Her mouth still tasted of mice, and she considered cleaning her mouth out with seawater. But that was far down, and she was tired, and it was a lazy day, the wind soft and the waves rhythmic. She’d get up soon.

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Desmond was nocturnal. He ruled the night skies. However, it was a rule he did not take advantage of. The benefit of being an Anthro; he had flight, as a bird Shifter did, but he was many times larger than they. So far he hadn't run into any Shifters yet. The sun had started to set and he had been off. Normal people would be going to bed soon. Desmond was far from normal. He had gotten the whole 'flying' thing under control a bit. Taking off was still awkward, to say the least. One would think that just moving your arms up and down in sync wouldn't be hard. Unfortunately, there was a lot more to flying than just that. He hadn't tried flying backwards - apparently hummingbirds were the only flying creatures that could fly backwards. That rule might not apply to Anthros, but he didn't want to test it. Maintaining forward momentum was difficult enough without tricks. Right now he was coasting on a breeze; the Keepers had made it autumn. Autumn meant lots of wind. It was good when you were coasting near the top of the cage, but bad when you were trying to take off in the head of a strong breeze.

Keeping his arm/wing movements in a stable, circular motion, Desmond was able to fly along at a decent rate. It was light, yes, but he used his echolocation to figure out where the walls were. Stupid clear dome. At least the silvery picture in his mind made it clear where the wall was. He wasn't paying attention to the ground, really. It had little consequence. He could find his way back. Already he had most of the Menagerie mentally mapped out. It would come in handy one day, he was sure. He could smell......salt. Sweat. Blood. Not the normal trash, decomposition, and dirty smell of the Bestia territory. Blood was most concerning. He tilted his left wing, turning in a wide circle as the wall loomed ahead. He looked down for a brief second. Water. He was in Carnia territory. Crap! The Carnia were the last people he wanted to run into. Especially since he hadn't mastered this new body yet. Fighting was completely out of the question for a while. Heck, he didn't even have hands anymore! Just these two stupid digits that ended in claws. He could grab things, but carrying anything while flying was out of the question. Maybe he could make some sort of backpack apparatus....but for his front. It was something to think about. As he flew back, he started to pay attention to what was happening below.

He came upon a warship...or what used to be a warship. From the look of it - everything looked different from the sky - it was half submerged. The Keepers had been creative when they laid out this place, that was for sure. All the territories were different, all had benefits and disadvantages. The disadvantage of the warship, so far as he could tell, was that there was only one bridge onto it. Of course, if you were a bird Shifter or could swim, it was no problem. Still, it would be easy to trap some Carnia in the boat. He made note of that; you never knew when you would have to put the vicious Ring at a disadvantage. He couldn't see down that far, at least not the details. Cautiously he sent out an ultrasonic call. Details flooded into his mind in silvery lines. It didn't look like anyone was there. His ears flicked backwards and forwards again. No sounds. Folding his wings back a bit, he dove steeply. Agh too steep! Too steep! Only by flapping furiously was he able to avoid crashing into the water. As it was he was forced to land on the top of the ship, skidding a bit on the hot metal. "Ahhhh hot hot hot!" he hissed softly, hopping from one bare foot to the next. It looked like a bizarre bat-like dance with his wing/arms outspread as they were.

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ooc; this is such a simple post. xD

word count; 649
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She wasn’t going to get up. Instead, Tatum stretched out (belly down) against her ‘bed’, and gave her head a wakeful shake, trying to clear the haze the sunlight was causing to her head. It was warm, and since the walls were high, blocked out the wind. She knew it was windy as if by instinct, and perhaps the trees rustling in the distance. The rustling and the trash of the waves wasn’t rhythmic, but it sounded nice and real and almost dreamy. She felt like going back to sleep again instead of waking more fully. It wasn’t as though she had much better things to do.

The warship looked black and grey and silver, but huge and grand and she felt it’s emptiness as a resounding comfort. Sometimes the only place in the Menagerie where you can feel safe was the warship. The irony was not wasted on her. The metallic floor didn’t hurt her hand, it was more like a burning numbness after all this time, and her hands had adapted to withstand it—maybe because placing her hand against the heat was now a morning ritual for her. Sometimes it even felt good and prickling, causing her to shiver and jump her hand away, and always left her feeling either awake or drowsy. Tatum smiled blandly at the black wall, her head lifting higher as a breeze skipped on by, leaving her to see black dots in her vision until she blinked them away and reality was the same. She felt comforted, a bit, and sat up on her bed, crossing her legs and looking out onto Carna land. She didn’t bother to look at the water. Forever wasn’t written there on the horizon as it was on the real ocean—and she was beginning to forget. It was ok, since any life before this was just like her dreams, only they took longer to burn away.

Right now, though, Tatum wanted to throw a tantrum, if only for the fact that she was bored. And then the mutant of all birds decided to visit her ship without her permission and then screech his little heart out at the heat that she didn’t notice much anymore. There was a smug feeling as she knew she wasn’t noticed, and a glee at being the better flyer, and she almost cackled in her delight. So, feeling finally awaken, Tatum stretched out her legs and looked at the sight in front of her, and leaning against the wall, smirked at the other creature—she noticed it’s morph was mixed in with its human body, like Megumi’s was, and she guessed they were the same type of freak. She was a different type, and that made this creature safer than her type of freaks. …The white coats called them freaks, and Tatum never asked the others if the white coats were wrong.

”You’re a terrible flyer. You’re doing it all wrong.” Tatum smugly informed the arrival, glaring at him with her best piercing gaze (which wasn’t that bad, as she had spent a few months perfecting it and her eyes were exactly the same as her bird morph was). The next thing the other did was go psycho, jumping up and down complaining about the heat of the metal. Her confusion was evident upon her face, though Tatum couldn’t help giggling outright as he seemed to dance. (birds were always the best dancers, she knew) Tatum jumped up and walked sideways onto the uncovered sunlit patch of metal, barefoot, and stood there, feeling the prickles of heat and the burning and the kind numbness.

She turned back to stare at the other, ”Does your morph-mix make you more sensitive to this type of things?”

He seemed to continue jumping, and Tatum finally scowled before stepping back onto her bed, and informed him, ”If I had a rock, I would throw it at you.”

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The voice made him cease his hopping movements, though he did shift from foot to foot. His feet, typically bare, quickly adjusted to the scorching metal. His ears flicked around, listening. No one else was here, or at least no one else was awake. His arm... gah they were wings now....hung loosely at his sides, his wing membranes wrapped somewhat behind his back. These things were cumbersome; he had to relearn casual stances and conversation with them. Desmond, before the experimentation of course, gestured with his hands a lot while speaking. That was hard when you could easily club someone over the head with a solid mass of wing. He cocked his head, looking at the girl with curious bright green eyes. "Well princess," he said, a bit sarcastic with an expression of amusement on his tanned face, "excuse me for butchering something that should be graceful. I've only had these things a few weeks, you see, and they are rather cumbersome." He spread his wings to their full 16 foot wingspan to demonstrate.

Desmond, using his powers of deduction, knew this girl was a Shifter. Good job genius, that was a given. You're in the Menagerie, in the Carnaring. Of course she's a Shifter. He also assumed she was some kind of bird or flying creature. Why else would she comment on how he was flying wrong? Oh right, because anyone could tell that he was awkward in the air. Still, she had a birdlike feel about her. She was the youngest one he'd seen so far. Maybe eight or nine. That glare she gave him, though, bespoke of a much older mentality. It didn't phase him. Desmond had long since stopped being affected by the looks of others. It was in his nature to ignore hostility. "Not really," he replied to her question about sensitivity, "I just wasn't planning to land, you see, and so I wasn't prepared for it to be so hot." Desmond was honest at least. True, his body seemed to not like the sunlight as much, but temperature wasn't something he reacted to.

The little girl retreated back into the darker interior again. Her next comment made him laugh. His laugh was mellow and in a pleasant baritone, but he did make sure not to laugh too loud. Chuckling, he shook his head, keeping his twinkling green eyes on her. "I'm sure you would. Boy, you're a Carna through and through, aren't you?" He folded his arms behind him, still feeling awkward with the leathery wings brushing against his back. Desmond shrugged his shoulders, his bare chest rippling with thick muscle. "If you want to go find a rock, by all means do. Anyways, what kind of bird do you shift to? I assume you're a bird type, what with your talk of me flying wrong and all." The girl amused Desmond; she was diverting. He enjoyed interesting conversations, and talking to a Carna made it even more interesting.