The Park, Monday Evening

[lockestheway]

Portals elsewhere might break, send you to the wrong planet, or leave you hanging; this one was forever faithful to its own schedule.

Sadly, for those denizens of the island who might have grown attached to their children, that meant it was time to say goodbye. The portal popped up blazing purple in the center of the park, calling to those it had taken here just a few days ago.

Time to go, time to go home, children.

[[ for your AU kidlet goodbyes! Sniff. ]]

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[wee-heartillies.livejournal.com]

Pluma cooed happily. The Mommy and Daddy were acting like themselves again, even if the Mommy had only taken her wings out the once. And she had such pretty new feathers! She'd gotten a flamingo feather. A flamingo.

She hadn't taken it from the flamingo, it had been shed and lying on the ground, but it was a start. She was learning. This would be a very happy sort of evil cackle if she knew how to do those.

Pluma wriggled over to see if maybe she could nudge the Daddy's fingers. And slobber on them for good measure.

They were totally getting saved when she set the world on fire. She liked them bestest of all.

[wwiii]

The Daddy... er... Warren took the slobber in stride, at least. It was easier to be not as weirded out by this sort of thing when you had a son play interpreter and kind of explain the whole... Pluma... thing.

The entity that was Pluma?

It was easier to think of her as a noncorporeal being that created a form for herself by grabbing feathers from things, that is. Even if it wasn't accurate, somehow, it seemed... more plausible than him and Rinoa having a featherball lovechild, someday.

"Yeah, I'm pretty fond of you, too," he decided, idly preening a few of her feathers between his fingers. "You promise to be a good girl for your parents on the other side?"

[angelo_wings]

Pluma trilled a few times. She would be good. She would collect her feathers and she would bide her time. She promised. She felt better every time she got more of them.

Rinoa's fingers stroked the edge of Pluma's feathers. She wasn't anyone that Rinoa might have expected, but she was still hers. She could feel it if she tried hard enough. Maybe it was a mom thing. Maybe she was losing her mind. Maybe it was the same thing.

"It was lovely having you here," Rinoa said. She wasn't sure that she shoul explain that they had met her. She didn't know how much Pluma understood. She seemed ... young.

[wwiii]

"It was," Warren agreed, and then, after a moment's thought, he stretched his wing forward, selected a feather that wasn't so big that it might throw Pluma ridiculously off-balance (the Katamari physics of a wee featherball had to be taken into careful consideration, after all), and he plucked it, holding it out to her. "A souvenir. Of your little adventure here."

Being plucked? Hurt. But at least it was a quick sting before his healing factor soothed it over, some.

[wee-heartillies.livejournal.com]

Pluma perked up. A feather! A daddy-feather for her and it was gorgeous. She cooed her appreciation, sliding forward and absorbing it into herself. She shuddered once or twice, and reconfigured slightly, the new feather now an essential part of her nexus.

Feathers ruled. She was trilling and cooing her joy. She had a daddy-feather, given freely. She would use it to grow big and strong. She promised.

[angelo_wings]

This totally needed to be a feathers sort of moment, and so Rinoa concentrated, willing herself not to drop Pluma, not to tap into too much magic, and not to lose herself.

An instant later, her wings began to unfurl, slowly, behind herself. They were beautiful. Sometimes she envied Warren; his could be out all the time. She knew it would be a logistical nightmare, and she knew how lucky she was, that she could stealth. But she felt like a goddess whenever she had wings.

She stretched one feathery wingtip, to brush against Pluma, shivering slightly. Pluma cooed, happily, in response.

One big feathery family?

[wwiii]

One big feathery family. Warren gave Rinoa a bit of a sideways smile. For all that she might have envied him because his were always out, he still couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy, himself. She could hide hers, could be normal, no harnesses necessary.

"I guess this is where we see you off, huh, Pluma?"

... So help him, he kind of found himself not wanting to.

[wee-heartillies.livejournal.com]

Feathers. Feathers all around her, safe, soft, and brushing her. Pluma was loved. Pluma nuzzled each of them, in turn, purring lightly -- enjoy your damp fingers, everyone.

She liked this. It was cozy. It was all as it should be.

And then, with some effort, she pulled herself up, up, so she could hover in the air a couple of inches over their hands. Flying still required concentration; that was why she only ever managed short bursts of it. But she was getting better.

One last trill, and she fluttered through the portal.

[angelo_wings]

Rinoa had to swipe at her eyes. And -- okay, she didn't know how exactly if you could manage hugging with two arms and wings apiece without poking any eyes out, but she and Warren could figure that out, yes? Please? Maybe? Because she really needed to be held right now and just sort of ... grieve for a moment, and she had a feeling he did, too.

[wwiii]

Warren nodded a little in mute understanding, and demonstrated the perfect way to hug with two arms and wings apiece, holding her close while folding his wings around her reassuringly.

The answer to the mystery of what to do with so many wings, of course, was to use them.