Birds of a Feather
"Skiiiizzzz!"
The voice isn't one he immediately recognizes, so it takes Skizz a moment to clock it.
"Falsie!" He greets the falcon avian, hopping up to the top of his pyramid to meet her. "What can I do for you?"
False lands a little strangely, favoring her left wing. "I certainly hope you can help. Do you preen?"
Skizz blinks. "Um. Not often. It's not required, exactly, but I've done it before."
"Good enough." False picks a block, sits down, and spreads her wings. "Do you see it?"
"Oh wow."
He does see it- one of her brown-gray secondaries is sticking out at an angle, clearly half-pulled from the skin. "Oh that can't be comfortable, False."
"It's not and I'd like it gone, please."
"On it!" Skizz carefully crouches behind False and grips the feather firmly. He can feel that the shaft is snapped. "Arrow?" He asks.
"Skeleton," False says. "I didn't see him beyond my tramway."
Skizz carefully tugs and the broken feather comes loose. False sighs in relief and Skizz carefully puts the feather down. "The rest look good," he says with a critical eye. "You want me to look over the other one?"
"Sure. Then I'll do you."
"False you don't have to."
"It's only fair. Never preened an angel, could be interesting."
Skizz chuckles awkwardly. "Probably not, but I appreciate it." He does a quick inspection of False's other wing. She keeps them neat and clean, and he spies no further problems.
"Alright, lemme at 'em," False says. Skizz shrugs and turns, stretching out the primaries. "Okay, but I don't think you'll find much."
It's quiet for a long moment, long enough for Skizz to laugh akwardly and say, "they aren't that bad, are they?"
"Your feathers are very iridescent, did you know that?" False asks. He feels her begin combing through the primaries. "They look white but then they're pink, or blue, or red. And they don't feel like feathers, either- not like mine or Grian's. They're- softer. Liked all of them are down, but they aren't shaped that way."
"All our feathers were like that." Skizz says. "I mean you can ask Grian all about it, my wings don't make a lick of sense."
"Well, no," False says, and keeps working, "I suppose every time you put them away any broken ones must just slough off and disappear."
"Maybe?" Skizz says. "I haven't put much thought into it, to be honest."
"Hmm. Skizz?"
"Yeah?"
"You said preening wasn't required."
"No. Pretty much like you said- whatever needs to go just goes."
"So other angels never touched your wings?"
"...I never said that." Skizz says quietly.
"Should I stop?" False asks kindly.
"No. It's- it's been ages. Way back at the beginning, they grouped Beacons in threes, so we were grouped, too. My- I guess you'd call them squadmates were Dabriel and Hayliel. We did one anothers' wings, in the downtime."
"Didn't get a lot of that, I imagine."
"You'd be surprised," Skizz says, looking up at the sky. "Anyway we got split up as soon as Command expanded outside the ring of servers that surrounded the Quire."
"Quire?"
"That's what it's called. The- server name, I guess. Hermitcraft, Quire."
Skizz shrugs, the movement shifting his wings under False's hands. "And after that there was no one to bother and then no time."
"Well, that's unfortunate." False says, neatening the smaller feathers near his spine. "It's rotten work sometimes but I do like getting it done, even if Grian thinks I think he talks too much."
Skizz chuckles. "He just doesn't want to annoy you."
"That's because he is a wise man." False gently pats his back. "Done. You're all set."
"Thanks!" Skizz moves away to give her room to take off. "I'm glad I could help."
"You did. Skizz?"
"Yeah, Falsie?"
"There are people to bother, now. And there's time. If you'd like."
He smiles.
"You know, False? I think I'd like that a lot."
"Good. We'll make it a regular thing. Between the two of us, Grian won't be quite the disgrace he is currently."
False takes off and Skizz waves as she flies away. He returns to his work with a lighter heart, humming the silly little song that Dabriel made up for when they were combing their wings.
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A/N: Quire means two things: it is either a collection of leaves within a book numbering between eight and twenty four, depending on how granular you want to get, or within a church context it is the spot in a church reserved for the choir. The words quire and choir are pronounced the same, and a popular term for a group of angels is a choir.
Hello, miss False! You probably should have been around before now, but here you are!
