Page 5

Feather Face

BANE

“While I don't consider myself a masochist, my demons certainly think otherwise,” I commented, staring holes into the ugly bastard’s face seated at the enormous table.

He lifted his eyes to mine and bared his cracked yellow stumps of teeth. “Shut yer trap,” he grunted and refocused his attention on the potato pinched between his sausage-like fingers. He removed the skins with a poorly crafted knife, the handle slipping in his grasp with every stroke.

I snorted. “Well, I might consider it, if you would stop grumbling about having to peel the damn things for your stew.” I paused, then jutted my chin toward the knife in his hand. “That blade has seen better days. When's the last time you sharpened it?” A giddy thrill raced through my blood as he frowned, dropping the potato onto the cutting board before him.

“I don't know if I've ever sharpened it.”

“Well, that's your problem then. Why don't you hand it here and I'll help you sharpen it. Have you got a whetstone? Don’t you worry, I know my way around a blade.”

His bushy eyebrows rose and his muscles tensed as if he were about to stand from his rickety chair, the wood groaning beneath him, but my cellmate released a hiss, and his bloodshot eyes darted to the opposite end of my cage. He chuckled humorlessly. “You almost had me there, beastie.” His head shook, knotted, greasy hair swaying about his face. “You almost had me there,” he repeated. “Didn't he, little Goosey?” My brow arched at this massive dunce cooing at the goose resting in a nest, which took up more than half the available ground space of our enclosure might I add.

My wings flared, knocking into the metal bars surrounding me and I winced, clenching my jaw. Claws dug into my palms as the giant turned back to his manual task. I haven’t a clue how long I've been imprisoned here, but any time spent in literal chains is more than enough.

Dark laughter sounded in my skull. “Oh, please, Bane, you love being chained and used.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my wrists, rattling the chains. “In a completely different circumstance, yes, I do quite enjoy it, but not when this asshole is my jailer.” I tapped my lips with the pad of my index finger. “Still, mind your tongue. You're not helping me out of this situation, demon.”

“I prefer to be called Freddy.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Laughter filled my mind and I sighed, dragging my curved claws down my cheeks, allowing the pain to attempt to center my churning grey matter. Telling my demons off never worked but I will never stop cursing out their sorry asses. I even tried naming them, hoping that it would do something beneficial. It didn’t. Freddy and his band of fucknuts actually enjoyed being named, something about giving them a prestigious air. Although after the Heechus helped mute the others, only Freddy and Marv, interject themselves regularly into my thoughts.

“Who in the goddess are you talking to, beastie?” the giant bellowed, slamming his fist down on the table and causing the knife to cut a jagged slice into his thumb.

“See, if you had sharpened that edge before you began peeling at least that wound would be nice and straight. And heal up cleanly, too,” I tsked. “Now you'll have a nasty scar. Although now that I think on it, maybe it will just match the rest of you.” A grin spread across my face as dark greenish-grey blotches rose to the surface of his face.

“What is it you want from me? My wife left me for my brother. I don’t know how to do any of this, this…” he trailed off.

“Homemaking?” I suggested.

“Yeah, homemaking!” He shouted and threw his arms wide, thick, muddy green blood splattering the goose and I, marring its gorgeous gold tipped, white plumage. My cellmate shook out its feathers, showering me with more bodily fluids, and I huffed, chains rattling as I folded them over my chest.

My eyes narrowed on…what did he call it? Goosey? I sighed. “Now, that’s just uncalled for. I'm not against using blood as a decoration, or even a stylistic choice, but this fellow’s blood stinks like rot and loneliness,” I whispered to the bird, leaning toward it. I was shite at being discreet when riled and fully aware that my whisper wasn’t quiet at all. My shoulders straightened, and then I spoke in a louder voice. “Oh, so that is why you're stuck with the household duties, eh?” My head shook side-to-side. Perhaps I even felt a little sorry for the guy. “I was wondering why a man,” the last word coming out like a question, so I cleared my parched throat once more and tried again. “Yes, I was wondering why a man such as you would live in such a…” my sentence trailed off, the urge to use hovel to describe his dwelling pinching my tongue, but I continued, “house lacking in grander such as this. Why, I'm surprised you don't live in a castle, a big fellow like you.”

“I used to,” he muttered, “but she got to keep the castle and the staff in the split.”

I clicked my tongue and gripped the bars between my three- fingered stone hands. “That's bad luck. Right, Goosey?” I stated, turning to face the pampered bird for a moment before returning my attention to him. “What do you plan on doing with us, anyway? I’d wager the bird would taste grand in a stew, but me? I likely don't taste very good and will only break your teeth.”

The giant’s dry, cracked lips twist downward, then he pokes out his stumpy tongue and licks the blood from his wrist to the gash on his thumb in one long stripe. He smiles. “Doesn't matter to me. You'll make a good seasoning and help me clean out my bowels.”

Stomach acid rose to the back of my throat. I swallowed the acrid taste down, keen on distracting my captor enough that he eventually made a mistake. My wings flared again, unable to stretch fully trapped as we were, and my long tail ticked against the bars.

He pointed a finger at me, the cuticle bed littered with possibly dirt or some other dark substance I’d rather not think too long about. “You talk too much, gargoyle. Besides, I would never eat Goosey,” he lectured, spittle flying from his mouth. He came over to the cage and poked a thick finger through the bars. The goose reared back as he tried to pet the creature, but it avoided his prodding digit.

Perhaps not a pampered beast or pet at all.

“First of all,” I growled, unable to stop the edge from creeping into my voice. “I come from a long line of grotesques.” I pointed a finger at my face, my polished claw tip glinting in the sunlight streaming through the window next to my cage. “Second, does this look like a motherfucking waterspout to you?”

The giant’s brows furrowed into one long unibrow.

I chuckled darkly. “Never you mind, the concept is obviously beyond your capabilities, mate.” My head tilted to the side. “Also, if you don't plan to eat your bird, what will you do with her?”

I realized I didn't really know if it was a female, but my instincts told me the goose was a she.