B A D R I T U A L || Uncaged
Come to the woods if you want to talk, this isn’t mandatory, it would only help the process. Come to the woods, just walk right in and please, come find me.
The Seagull On this cold November evening, the Seagull was live. He pushed the notes underneath the doors of the uncaged and each piece of paper was still undoubtedly warm from the printer. Hot off the press, the subtle heat stretched through even the thin envelops he stored the note in. He’d taken the time to google search a couple of hand-writings and closely copied different styles for the each of them. Sometimes cursive, sometimes blocky, but never Victor’s. Yes it was last minute, yes there would only be a handful of hours of preparation. Yes, it was possible for the uncaged not to notice it. Wouldn’t that make it all the more special if he let chance take the wheel for this one? Each note had the same words, but different times for each. He could surely make this work, he just had to shoo a person away if their conversations got too long. No time slots should intermingle. Now, that would be a mess. An hour or so before the first meeting, the Seagull made his way into the woods. He let them swallow him, only a little. If the woods had a mouth, he was but the sweet part of the sucker, just dancing along the tastebuds. He wore a large, padded coat and goose feathers lined the hood. It was an old garb, something he would drop by Good Will tomorrow. Once he was deep enough to not make a scene, he found a tree he saw fitting enough and climbed it. He pulled himself up to a moderately high branch and perched himself upon it. He leaned against the trunk and dug through his backpack, he pulled out a mask and a microphone that had multiple voice distortion options. He played with the settings for a moment. Alien, no. Bear, no. Witch, no. Then, he clicked Radio Announcer and sort of wanted to marry the microphone for a moment. It sounded perfect. Once he was settled, he pulled on his mask and took out his phone. After another handful of minutes, it was time to begin. He turned up the volume on his phone and pulled open a song he saw most fitting. They would have to listen closely to hear it. Surely, they would find him eventually. Blackbird singing in the dead of night…
The note came on a piece of printed paper this time - no fancy manuscript, no wax seal. Just sealed in a thin envelope. “Come to the woods if you want to talk.” That was exactly what she wanted, Gia thought as she glanced at the bottom of the note to see who had summoned them this time. The Seagull. The one who broke the birds’ wings, who’d said he was interested in their talents. This had the potential to be an intriguing conversation, if she could get herself to the woods in time. Since her appointed time was slotted to start five minutes ago. Shit.
How long had the piece of paper been sitting there? She’d only just gotten back from the library - the Seagull must have dropped it off much earlier in the day. Either that, or he’d just dropped it off, wanting to make it as difficult for them as possible. At any rate, she would miss her time slot if she didn’t go right now. She took off in a jog down the hall and towards the stairs, not bothering to grab anything or even lock her dorm room. There wasn’t time for it.
She tore through campus, her surroundings a blur as she approached the forest. When she reached the edge of the line of trees, she slowed, fallen leaves slowly crunching under her boots. The note hadn’t given any directions, so she supposed she would just have to... wander. That wouldn’t be a problem, except for the fact that her time was still ticking. Out of breath, she resumed her jog into the group of trees, trying to make her footfall as light as possible so it didn’t drown out anything she might be able to hear. She flicked her gaze between the trees around her, trying to keep an eye out wherever the Seagull might be, and the forest floor, doing her best to step only on the dirt and not on the loud piles of leaves. Her care paid off as she heard the soft strains of music twisting around the nearby tree trunks. It was a Beatles’ song - the one about the blackbird with the broken wing. Appropriate.
She swiftly and quietly circled the area of the sound until she determined that in whatever direction she went, the music was only getting softer. “Seagull?” she called out loud as she came to a stop, spinning around. “Sorry I’m. Late.” She only hoped she wasn’t too late.
