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+---- Thread: [SE] let freedom wing (/showthread.php?tid=11625)
let freedom wing - Nova - 07-01-2025
Most people would say that they've never seen a bird who didn't know how to fly, that from the moment they're born, it's ingrained in them so deeply that when their moms push them from the nest, they fly.
Well, whoever happens to be roaming the lighthouse will now be able to confidently say they have.
In the graceful morning light, with birds chirping and the crisp Leafchange breeze blowing salty air across the shoreline that glitters like stars.... are the frustrated chirps of a little dreambird. Six wings try and fail to work in any form of synchrony, flapping frantically against the sands that get caught in the ruffled rainbow feathers. The movement makes it hard for its legs to stay under it, flopping to the side and chirping indignantly before flopping back the other way in a vicious (and comedic) cycle.
The young Hybrid has been at it for hours (at least that's what if feels like), the bubbly energy slowly thinning into annoyance at her inability to just fly.
When her next attempt buries her beak down, tail feathers up in the sand, she plops back in an undignified pile of limp wings. Nova shakes the sand from her head, letting out another loud squawking chirp that's a mental scream to all the gods and none of the gods all at once. [say]Thanks for the shift, but could you send me one that isn't broken next time?![/say]
RE: let freedom wing - Everest - 07-02-2025
The saltwind catches Everest’s wings just right, the thermal lifting him higher than strictly intended, but he adjusts with a subtle twitch of his feathers. He’s been charting a loose reconnaissance flight along the coast for the better part of an hour—part exercise, part habit, part excuse to avoid thinking too hard about the chaos of recent days. The wind up here makes sense. The air behaves as expected.
Which is why, when something doesn’t, it stands out immediately.
A flurry of rainbow wings below jerks his attention downward. Not the elegance of seabirds or the jerky rhythm of fledgling hels. No—this is chaos wrapped in feathers. And more importantly, that chaos is multicoloured. A six-winged avian form struggling in the sand like it’s trying to win a very personal war with gravity.
His talons tighten slightly around the air current as he banks lower, golden eyes narrowing. The dreambird is distinctly not native to Torchline, thus making it more than likely that this is an attuned.
[say]Are you having trouble?[/say] His voice slides carefully into the attuned bond as he circles above, crisp and calm, the telepathic equivalent of clearing his throat. [say]Do you require assistance?[/say]
RE: let freedom wing - Nova - 07-02-2025
The familiar presence of the Attuned bond doesn't startle her, although she's ruffled at having been caught in such distress - not that she's struggling or anything. No, Nova shifts in uncoordinated motions to place her feet firmly in the sand, her feathers puffing at the indignity as she looks up. [say]No.[/say] It's pointed and prideful, bristling at the idea that she might need help. Because she's naturally good at everything. Magic comes easy and she's strong and fast and fully capable of figuring this out by herself (she don't need no man).
However, while she sits sprawled in the sand, the falcon soars gracefully above, not an ounce of effort evident on his wings. He even catches the breeze like it's a tune in the back of his mind, gliding forth like it's an old friend. It's annoying to watch, and even more annoying to admit that maybe he knows something she doesn't.
Lifting her head, she readjusts her wings, trying to elegantly lay the six comfortably on top of each other as she mutters, [say]Maybe.[/say] Still not completely convinced it's her, Nova does her best to lift one wing to show him - which then has the other two shifting awkwardly like there's invisible strings sewn between them. She mentally glares at the colorful plumage. [say]I think something's wrong with my wings. They don't work right.[/say]
RE: let freedom wing - Everest - 07-03-2025
[say]Understood.[/say] The eagle begins to pivot away, wings folding in a precise, economical angle as he prepares to catch the updraft and return to his intended flight path. She said no. He catalogues it. Files it. Adjusts course accordingly. There’s a right order to things, and respect sits at the top of the list.
But then—Maybe.
The single word disrupts the mental checklist. His wings twitch mid-glide, correcting instantly, and he banks a sharp, calculated curve back toward the beach. A beat later, he’s descending with controlled momentum, adjusting minutely for wind speed and terrain. Talons land with soft clicks against a smooth basalt stone, and he draws his wings in with an almost mechanical symmetry—left, then right, ensuring perfect balance.
[say]Not a standard number of wings[/say], he observes aloud, eyeing the disarray with clinical detachment. There’s no mockery in it—just data. Six wings. Bright plumage. Poor interwing coordination. Head tilted slightly, he commits it all to mental inventory. [say]Though I believe it is the acceptable number for dreambirds.[/say]
His gaze stays locked on her wings as he continues, tone clipped but oddly gentle. [say]If you like you can show me how you've been going about getting airborne and I can see if I can see why they aren't working correctly.[/say]
RE: let freedom wing - Nova - 07-03-2025
He lands next to her with more annoying ease, perching on a rock while she's still stubbornly stuck to the sand. His assessment has her head tilting, curious as he checks over her wings. She hadn't thought it was an odd number of wings, but she supposes that most birds have two. Maybe she's just extra special, so the gods gave her more.
There's an ounce of embarrassment as she thinks he's making the incorrect assumption that she's already flown. It's not like she hasn't tried, but she always ends up in a tangle of wings - not that he or anyone else needs to know that. Okay. Maybe he does if he's going to help her.
Puffing her chest against the idea, her head burrows down into her plumage as she mutters, [say]I haven't flown yet.[/say]
Suddenly worried he might think less of her, she hops to make herself taller (which isn't very tall). [say]But it's not my fault! The wings bump into each other and won't work together. They have to be broken.[/say] She throws out all her wings, moving them up and down like she might be trying to fly, but what are supposed to be graceful movements are stilted and disjointed, wings smacking into each other and throwing them off course. It's a mess of jerking motions and chaotic feathers with the very obvious factor of no upward momentum. [say]See?![/say]
RE: let freedom wing - Everest - 07-03-2025
[say]I see.[/say] There’s no judgement—no surprise, even—as the eagle bobs his head in a slow, precise nod. It’s not an odd confession. It’s simply a variable. One that clarifies the dataset and sharpens the parameters of whatever this small mystery is. He logs it silently: first avian, no successful flight attempts, wing coordination issues.
She flails—ungracefully, chaotically, determinedly—and he watches with sharp, steady eyes. Each collision is registered. Each beat that knocks the others off-course is filed away. The feathers blur into a kaleidoscope of motion, but the patterns within are all he focuses on. When she finishes, he doesn’t react right away. Instead, the eagle tilts his head in that mechanical little way, one eye trained on her wings with unwavering focus. [say]Do they always move together?[/say] he asks finally, voice transmitted gently through the bond. [say]When you try to flap, are all six reacting at once—or can you mopve one set at a time?[/say]
Another pause, more analytical this time. [say]If we can isolate control over smaller groups, we may be able to create stability. Like rowing in sync, rather than splashing in every direction.[/say] His tone holds no mockery. If anything, there's the quiet, warm undercurrent of someone genuinely engaged in solving a puzzle. One with feathers.
RE: let freedom wing - Nova - 07-03-2025
It takes a second to get her feet situated again, the sand shifting around her digits as she tilts and adjusts. At least he doesn't seem to be judging her, the clinical nature of the stranger's analysis making it easier to calm her frustrations. He's taking it seriously and appears genuinely interested in helping her learn to fly, encouraging her to trust him a little more.
She blinks at the eagle, not having thought about the process enough to know how it works - only that it doesn't. So, as she considers his questions, her head tilts, confusion and mild curiosity twinkling down the bond as she deadpans, [say]Uuuuh. I don't know.[/say]
Looking at her wings again, Nova spreads them slowly before flapping down. The back pair moves first, but the front pair decides it's their turn next, bumping into the middle pair before they start their progress down, causing a jumbled mess of discomfort that makes her feathers ruffle. Rather than get annoyed - beyond a tiny spark - she tries to think about the options he'd given her and what the experiment had revealed. [say]I think... separate?[/say] Although she'll let him decide.
RE: let freedom wing - Everest - 07-08-2025
Her uncertainty is met with a quiet, thoughtful hum—not of doubt, but of interest. The data is incomplete, not incorrect. That’s a good thing. It means there’s room for discovery. With a smooth motion, the eagle hops down from his basalt perch and lands in the sand before her. The shift back to himself is immediate and silent, a blink of energy that leaves Everest kneeling neatly in pressed trousers, hands resting on his thighs. The wind catches the edge of his shirt as he looks at her—rainbow-feathered, mildly frazzled, and still trying. He admires that.
[say]"I’d like to help you isolate the motion,"[/say] he says, voice low and careful, gaze flicking up to hers. [say]"But only if you’re comfortable with me touching you."[/say] He holds still for her answer, movements minimal to avoid startling her. If she agrees, he'll lean forward and gently place both hands on her lower wings, bracing them in place with a steady but feather-light touch. His grip is firm enough to restrict movement, soft enough to adjust with any discomfort—just enough pressure to define boundaries without causing distress.
[say]"You don’t need to control them all at once,"[/say] he says. [say]"I’ll take care of the lower two sets. Just focus on the top. Let the sensation teach you what that motion feels like."[/say]
His eyes remain on her wings, fingers carefully placed. [say]"It’s okay if the others move. That’s part of learning. We’re just creating contrast. Structure."[/say] And structure, after all, is something Everest understands better than most.
RE: let freedom wing - Nova - 07-08-2025
The Attuned is shifting in the blink of an eye, revealing a tall man that makes her feel very small all of a sudden. Despite her shorter posture, Nova's never felt short before, her larger-than-life persoanility making up for the vertical disparity, but as a tiny bird, it's too obvious to ignore, her head craning up to look at him even as he's kneeling in front of her.
Contrary to what her reaction should be (as everyone keeps telling her), there's no fear or caution when he asks to touch her. She offers a mental shrug that translates in a brief tilt of her avian head. [say]If you think it'll help.[/say] Although when his fingers come to grasp her lower wings, the strange feeling of being restricted makes her blink for a moment as she adjusts, shuffling her feet in the sand.
She listens surprisingly close to his instructions, nodding her head as she looks at her wings. [say]Okay...[/say] Then, as if more to herself than him, she mutters, [say]Just the top two...[/say]
Her wings stretch wide as she moves to lift the top pair, feeling as the movement pulls at the threads in her other wings. They try to lift with the first, but his gentle grasp holds them in place as they strain upward. She keeps pulling against the sensation until only two wings raise up high, a little giggle sounding her triumph before she's flapping them down, a small gust of air shifting with the motion. Wanting to get a feel for it, Nova does it again, the threads slowly starting to resemble spiderwebs that could shake lose with enough force.
RE: let freedom wing - Everest - 07-12-2025
The moment her laughter sparks down the bond, Everest’s smile deepens—subtle, but undeniably real. Not the tight-lipped polite version he wears in crowds or when expected, but something softer. Warmer. Unforced. [say]"That’s it,"[/say] he says quietly, his gaze never leaving the movement of her wings. [say]"That’s the separation. You’re doing it."[/say]
She’s learning, and more importantly, she’s feeling it. That delicate thread between instinct and intent is beginning to show. He watches the tension ripple through her muscles, the twitch of correction and refinement already happening on its own, and gives a small, approving nod.
[say]"Try to memorise that feeling—the weight of it. The rhythm. Where it begins and ends."[/say] His hands shift slightly, stilling her lower wings for another moment so she can isolate that motion once more. Then, gradually, he begins to loosen his grip. Not all at once. Just enough for the strands of movement to start slipping back into her control.
[say]"I’m going to let go slowly,"[/say] he says. [say]"Keep your focus on the top set. Let the others stay quiet unless you need them."[/say] And if her wings twitch or falter, it won’t be a failure—it’ll be new data. Something to adjust. He stays close, steady, like scaffolding just beneath the surface, there if she needs it but never in the way. [say]"When you're ready, try and add in the middle pair."[/say]
RE: let freedom wing - Nova - 07-13-2025
The praise is helpful, a verbal encouragement of her progress as she slowly gains more individual control of the first pair of wings. She can feel the muscles begin to separate like threads in a string of colorful yarn, uncoiling from one another to become their own unique structures. Nova uses the man's voice as a guidance, feeling as his fingers slowly loosen with each flap of her wings. She doesn't need them as much anymore, noticing how the other two pairs of wings seem less eager to join in the movement. They still rustle when her front pair rises, but they calm as she tucks them a little tighter to her sides.
Feeling perhaps a little overconfident, Nova shuffles her feet and moves to spread the next pair of wings. [say]Add the middle pair...[/say] They flare between his fingers, the back pair straining to join just as they had with the initial motions of her front pair, and just like the first section, she tries to shake off that connection between the two sets; although this time, her front and middle pairs distract her by bumping into each other, not quite sure of whose turn it is to do the flapping.
RE: let freedom wing - Everest - 07-15-2025
Everest stays perfectly still as the middle wings begin to shift beneath his fingers, watching the interplay with eagle-ish focus. He doesn’t intervene, even when her sets of wings begin to jostle for control again—just observes, patient and present, cataloguing every overlapping twitch and hesitation. [say]"Good,"[/say] he murmurs softly. [say]"You’re pushing boundaries now. That’s important."[/say]
He doesn’t sound worried, even as her wings bump. Instead, there’s an almost methodical calm to the way he speaks, each word carefully timed to not interrupt her concentration. One hand lifts slightly, hovering just off her plumage in case she falters.
[say]"There’s interference—like two instruments trying to play the same note."[/say] His voice remains low and steady, guiding her focus back inward. [say]"Don’t rush to move them together. Think of the middle pair as an echo. Let the front wings take the lead. Then let the middle ones follow behind, just a breath later."[/say]
His free hand lifts, mimicking the staggered rhythm in the air—first one pair, then the next, in a wave-like motion. [say]"You’re not fighting them. You’re teaching them the same dance."[/say] He doesn’t reach for control again, just watches her try, and adds gently, [say]"You’re closer than you think."[/say]
RE: let freedom wing - Nova - 07-15-2025
Nova listens with surprising intensity, taking in all the tips and analogies as she tries to get her wings to work together rather than against each other. Knowing that adding the third pair will only complicated things, she does her best to keep them pinned to her side, finding it easier to separate the movements now.
The last example piques her interest, her feet shuffling excitedly in the sand. [say]Ooh. I like dancing![/say] At least with her feet, and she assumes it'll be just as fun with her wings.
Humming a bright, jovial tune in her mind (and subsequently through the bond), Nova tries to find a balance between concentration and instinct. She lets the music set the pace, her muscles the instruments that she coordinates into a rhythmic movement. It's not easy, and she stumbles a few times, but after the first song, her wings are beginning to move in an echoed sync: front wings, middle wings, front, middle, front, middle. It seems to be working, and Nova's chiming giggle melds with the music that flows down the bond.
RE: let freedom wing - Everest - 07-16-2025
Everest doesn’t interrupt the tune that filters into his thoughts, even if it’s not the kind of internal noise he’s used to navigating. Instead, he lets it settle in beside him, filing it away like ambient sound in a well-organized room. The precise rhythm of her movement—the subtle change as instinct gives way to coordination—holds his attention far more than the melody itself.
[say]"Good,"[/say] he says again, a soft warmth in the word. [say]"That’s it."[/say]
He shifts back just slightly, giving her a little more space while still kneeling in the sand, careful not to startle or disrupt the pattern she’s found. The harmony of her wings is still fragile, like something spun from sugar or blown glass. But it’s there. Distinct. Deliberate.
[say]"You’re translating tempo into movement,"[/say] he observes, quiet but pleased. [say]"That’s more than muscle memory. That’s control."[/say] His gaze flicks over her form, watching for stress or fatigue in the smaller stabilizer muscles near her shoulders. [say]"If you want to try adding the last set, do it like a final chorus. Wait until the rhythm feels easy. Then let them join in."[/say]
A small, rare smile curves at the edge of his mouth as her laughter pulses through the bond. [say]"And if it gets tangled, we can rewind the song."[/say] As a musician himself, Everest well knows the benefit of sometimes slowing down and beginning again.