Feathers soared, riding the thermals over the open fields to gain altitude, he flared his wings for maximum lift.
The greenery stretched out for miles, thousands of miles in fact, all the way out to the east coast. The feeling of relentless freedom was a welcome relief from the crushing oppression and acid rain of the slums, out here he could commune with eagle and really see the way he intended.
Spotting something dart between a hedgerow and the shade of a large oak, he pitched into a widely banking roll for a better look, slipping back in consciousness to let his eagle form dominate. A mouse? a vole?
There it was again, dashing across the opening towards home. dive, DIVE! The wind tore through his feathers as the ground rushed up to meet him, muscles flickering as they constantly adjusted trim and elevation as he dove towards his prey. Talons deployed as the adrenaline made his heart pound against his hollow bones but the flaring of his wings and noise of the sudden aerobraking caught the attention of the terrified mouse.
It bolted, changed direction and scarpered for the hedgerow. Feathers jinked left to intercept, but the wily mouse jinked right. He overshot.
Crushing disappointment replaced the fire of the adrenaline as he flared once more for landing, bleeding his remaining speed into a small hop of altitude before landing gracefully.
The hazy dusk was approaching and the bus wouldn't be too long.
He bade his mentor good night and released the mana from its woven form, returning to his human state, naked and shivering against the cold autumnal air. He jogged towards the hedgerow, hastily dressing and brushing as much of the muck off his clothes as possible before walking back down into the village.
The bus was late, as usual, but they'd long since given up on real drivers to berate for their lack of timeliness. Feathers took a seat at the back of the sparsely filled bus and fired up his link, pumping some nouveau-rock down his earbuds to drown out his longing for his old life, back on the family farm. It'd be fully open now. Some fucking strip mall and housing estate, the proceeds lining some corp bastard's pocket as his expense.
He quelled his rising anger and focussed on the beat, rythmically drumming his hand against the steamed up window as his therapist had once taught him to reinforce his mental efforts.
He knew he was too old for this shit (only a few years from retirement in theory) to be starting again from the bottom, but its not like he'd been given much of a choice.
He'd spent his savings fighting the compulsory purchase order, now destitute and homeless he'd had to rely on the good nature of others. The druid's circle had fitted him up with a slot in a bunkhouse in the lower downtown slums, primarily used to shelter persecuted awakened. The security was good, but it was seriously fragging basic inside. His rumbling stomach got to wondering if it would be krill, krill or krill for dinner and if there'd be any flavouring sachets left by the time he got "home".
At least the rent didn't break the bank, but his meagre savings wouldn't last long. He'd have to get something, some kind of work soon or he'd be out on the streets.
Night had properly fallen now, his AR feed read 5.36pm. Traffic was building steadily as the bus rumbled slowly into the outskirts. It picked up a menagerie of downtrodden suburbanites, wrapped up against the cold night air in hats, gloves and scarves. Pinging the buzzer, he did the same, knees creaking and groaning as 58 years of hard graft had taken away their rapidity. Coercing them into action, he walked down the length of the tired auto-bus and stepped out into the night air, popping in his respirator to guard his old throat against the rasping of the pollutants in this shithole of a town.
He switched his audio feed to the local chat channel, listening as the speaker made an excellent case for the extension of civil liberties to the SiNless only to be hounded down by a slick sounding corp spokesman, clearly well versed in shooting down "hippy neo-liberalist do-gooders", stating it was the likes of her that were responsible for the shambolic state of the economy. Having enough of that shit, he killed the feed. Besides, he'd need his wits about him now.
He had a couple of blocks to go now and he surreptitiously patted his concealed holster, checking his viper was still there and ready for action.
Remember....do not just look, but see
The irony of having a "safehouse" in one of the most dangerous parts of town hadn't exactly passed him by, but he was glad for the spirits and wards which protected the building, scant as it was inside of decoration and personality. It was just a damn shame he had to run the fucking gauntlet to get in or out without drawing the ire of one or the other set of gangers who'd made it home.
At least Lil' Mik had got an eye out for him. He wouldn't call him a friend per se, but it was at least a non-hostile face to associate with in a sea full of shite.
Pushing the door open, he waved his rfid chip over the door system, waving at John the door guard as he made his way through to the shared kitchen.
Quel suprise! Krill for dinner, and no, there were no sachets of flavourants left. fantastic.
