@scorchedcreed
Give me room to run One more road I’m on Give me room to run away I feel like I’m ready to roll
Desmond watched the newest acquisition curiously, hopping to the end of his perch to get a better look as their...collector did his best to wrangle the hippogriff into a stall. The hippogriff, for his part, was having none of it, talons scratching, beak snapping, wings straining against their bindings.
With a click of his beak, Desmond launched off of his perch, landing on the ground as close to the stall as his jesses would allow. He ruffled his feathers and chirped out a laugh as the hippogriff nearly got the collector in the crotch with a rear talon. The collector paused in his disastrous attempt at hippogriff wrangling to shout wordlessly in Desmond’s direction.
Twelve minutes later, the collector gave up on wrangling and instead simply tied the hippogriff’s halter to a post. Grumbling to himself, he turned and stalked back towards the house, the various other members of his collection shrieking as he passed.
Slowly, Desmond hopped forward again, returning to the end of his lead. Cautiously, the hippogriff edged towards him, head low to give himself more rope. Soon enough, they were standing beak to beak, investigating each other. (The fact that they could get that close was proof enough that the collector hadn’t expected the hippogriff to not go into the stall.) Too quickly, Desmond shoved his face into the hippogriff’s, and the hippogriff reared and hopped backwards a pace, only approaching Desmond again when the phoenix ruffled his feathers and cooed apologetically.
Slower that time, Desmond shoved his face at the hippogriff’s, picking at the halter with his beak. It took nearly half an hour of fussing--he missed having fingers and thumbs--but with a triumphant chirp, he unlatched one of the straps. The hippogriff delicately tossed his head, flinging the halter aside.
There was a quiet pop of displacing air, and the hippogriff was rather abruptly person-shaped. He sighed out a relieved breath and stretched his arms over his head. Naked as a jay bird, he knelt down on the ground and held a forearm out for Desmond. “Well, come on,” he coaxed. “Time to return the favor.”
Desmond hopped onto the hippogriff’s forearm, his beak clicking quietly as the hippogriff untied the jesses from Desmond’s legs. With a triumphant trill, Desmond launched away from him, landing a few feet away. There was another pop, and then he was just as person-shaped as the hippogriff.
With a grin, Desmond offered, “Thanks. I’ve been stuck on that branch for two weeks.”
The hippogriff’s answering grin was warm. “Always happy to help. I’m Alistair.”
“Desmond.” He glanced over his shoulder, towards the nearest member of the rest of the collection. When he turned back towards Alistair, his grin turned sly. “You up for a bit of competition?”
Alistair’s grin brightened. “And making that bastard miserable? I’m game.”
They both bolted towards the rest of the collection.
Unfortunately, the competition was a bit of a bust. Each released collectible joined the fray, releasing other collectibles, until everything was freed and there was no real way to tell who had freed who or how many. But Desmond supposed that had been the ultimate point.
He could hear the collector stirring in the house, and he transformed, wings stretching. Alistair trotted over, back on four legs again, his tail lashing. He cocked his head to one side expectantly. Where are you going?
Desmond clicked his beak and gave one wing tip a dismissive flick. No idea. He spread his wings and tipped his head. Race you there.
He launched himself into the air, the sound of Alistair’s wings spreading behind him. As the two of them soared away, the sound of the collector screaming in outrage followed them.
