The Golden ward feels the most like home, even if that’s not where Hawks’ assigned home is located. Here, he has the ability to find purchase atop towering buildings, much like the one he used to operate out of. He finds himself coming here often since waking up, the sun stinging his eyes in an almost pleasant way as he watches the hustle and bustle below with a protective eye he knows is likely wasted in what he’s convinced himself is his own afterlife. It all feels so real.
There were even modernozed vehicles here, though he has to be careful to not watch them too closely. With every skid, every fender bender, ever almost-accident, he longs for that familiar tingling of his feathers, his instincts to rescue to fice headfirst into danger overtaking the fact that his feathers no longer respond to him. There is a hoolowness that comes with that, but he has to endure it. Instead, he distracts himself with sugared coffee and sometimes even patrolls on foot, neatly folding his wings behind him.
Today, he is idly strolling through the city, taking note of places he could spend time gorging himself with food in, until something devastatingly familiar catches his eye. The boy doesn’t look like anyone he knows, no– but the way his bruised face and scuffed skin looks, he almost has that rookie-hero sort of essence about him, reminding the winged hero of his own protegee. He briefly wonders how Fumikage is doing.
The kid looks relatively average, save for the tail. He must be someone like Hawks, the hero thought, some kind of mutant that keeps most of his more pleasant features. Still, the state of him is concerning, like he’d gotten jumped in an alley or something. Smoothly, Hawks saddles up right next to him, raising his visor to beam down at the kid. Just a little check-in, right? That’s what he was supposed to do. … right?
“Hey, kiddo,” he greets, flashing that million-dollar bullshit smile. “Really oughta avoid the bad parts’a town, yanno? You look kinda beat up. You good?”
