wing hero: hawks

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[thefiercestwings]

>> hawks: the duality in justice

“i’ve a feeling we’re not in fukuoka anymore”

no. 2 professional hero in japan

did not attend a specialized hero course program in school like other heroes from his home

taken from an abusive, impoverished family life to be raised as a personal gopher and hitman for the Hero Public Safety Commission (an excessively corrupt hero-centric government)

child soldier in recovery but still just as shady

difficult to read if you don’t know the nature of his work

taken from a point before he [redacted act] [redacted character] for the sake of his development 

not super physically strong but fast and intelligent

suspiciously friendly

just a little scrungly

trauma chicken

[thefiercestwings]

@blankslateprotagonist

The seriously weird part about being in this place is the unmistakable parallels to things he’d experienced in his own world.

A multitude of people with varying shapes and powers? Check. Absurdities even he can’t begin to predict? Check. Hawks thinks he’s seen it all in his twenty-three years between hunting heroes and villains alike and witnessing some of the most formidable foes he could possible describe. Still, it’s the parallels that get him. 

He never has time for games himself; it’s a luxury disallowed to someone who is essentially owned by the HPSC. He does, however, often look after students during internships and work-studies, and they have all kinds of things to be obsessed with.

He’s often seen handheld games about children with teams of monsters fighting the good fight in their own way. Many students were head-over-heels for that sort of thing, and he’d seen plenty of advertisements for them. He knows a little, though he is bound to call every creature by the game mascot’s name. For a twenty-three year old, he has an old soul. 

It’s some strange coincidence that a good handful of residents here have teams of these odd creatures, though nothing he’s ever seen before. Sometimes, it’s a silly sort of guy with a giant plant and a mime. Sometimes, it’s a well-put-together woman with a haunted pumpkin or a weird-looking lizard.

Today, Hawks sees a younger girl with her own creatures, plodding along the rather confusing streets of the Fibonacci Ward. In contrast to the other places in this city, this place strikes him as dark and dangerous looking. It’s probbaly fine, but he still does not think this is any place for a child to be wandering unattended, even escorted by monsters. 

Curiosity getting the better of him, completely masking the fact that he’s more interested in making sure the kid gets home safe, Hawks finds himself catching up with her to gesture to the creature she has in her company. 

“Heyoooo,” he calles, realizing a bit too late that he looks like the creep here, not some helpful do-gooder. “You know, I keep seeing folks with these cute little guys with them. What are they, exactly? Don’t got nothing nearly that interesting back home.”

Liar.

[thefiercestwings]

@sxnburst

Bored, bored, boring.

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?”

[thefiercestwings]

@geidonteispostergirl

This was still all he was cut out for, wasn’t it?

Like a comet, the hero shoots through the darkened sky, his golden eyes fixed on the streets below. This isn’t his job anymore, not here; still, he can’t help but retain his habits in this supposed purgatory, his gaze constantly peeled for danger. 

All in all, this place seems relatively peaceful on the surface. The ward he’s been granted a home in, apparently labled ‘Cotes Fantasci’ (which he has some discernable trouble pronouncing), is verdant and and downright almost neighborly when it comes to its inhabitants. Still, without the use of over half his quirk, Hawks cannot help but feel restless, the itch replaced with a longing to do what he was brought up to do.

So, he takes to the skies every morning and evening in some mockery of his previous Fukuoka patrolls, hoping to scratch that itch that gnaws at the back of his thoughts so terribly he does not sleep. There isn’t an over-abundance of other avian creatures within the city, he gathers, as the skies are usually his and his alone. 

Tonight, however, as he swoops low over the markets, another form zips past him through the crisp night air, pink hair billowing about her head as she sets off at a purposeful pace. He could ignore her; should ignore her if he wants to continue his little mock patrol, but the isolation licks at his mind too much for him to not give chase. 

With a furious beat of his wings, he changes course, shooting off after the girl. At least he still has his speed, since he catches up decently quick. 

“So I am sharing the skies with someone else afterall!” he muses, ignoring the stinging in his eyes from the low-budget plastic visor he’d been given. “Who’da thought?”

[thefiercestwings]

hello, hello! my open is fine and dandy, but i'm ready to get the ball rolling! like this for a personalized starter and i'll toss one out for ya! uncapped for now!

[thefiercestwings]

“It could be worse,” was a mantra chanted over and over again, repeated ad nauseam until he could almost believe it. It could have been worse when High-End almost killed Enji. It could have been worse when Skeptic bugged him so drastically that he was forced to speak in riddles around his superiors and fellow heroes. It could have been worse when he was cornered into faking a close friend’s death. For a man with wings that could take him anywhere he pleased, Hawks will likely always be a caged bird, hands cuffed to the fate of his burdens until wiped from the earth like a smudge on glass. 

All for the sake of peace and prosperity, right?

He doesn’t ask too many questions when he awakens in this foreign place, which on a surface level looks strikingly like Otheon. For a fraction of a second, he thinks he’s been here, and then the memory escapes him as he warily eyes the massive chasm in the center of the city.

The conclusion he comes to is that he’s dead, and this city is some cosmic purgatory he must now navigate for his crimes. The inhabitants here seem to vary even more greatly than his own planet full of superhumans, which is pretty impressive when he thinks about it. Some are content, some seem just as befuddled as he is. He wonders what they’ve done to land themselves here, not that he’ll ever voice that out loud. The worst part of it is the unpleasant mixture of relief and guilt, knowing he’s still needed at home, but also tempted to blanket himself in the peace of knowing he technically got what he wished for. Peace.

The most troubling thing about it all is that his wings no longer function as they should; he is still able to fly, but no longer can he sense each individual feather, and no longer can he change their properties. He's just a regular dude with wings, and while the guilt of an abandoned mission sits heavy in his gut, there is a certain freedom in that.

After paying a visit to the surprisingly spacious townhouse he is meant to call home, though not running into any of his supposed housemates, he finds himself soaring back to the center of the city, diving out of the sky into the center of the bustling crowds without thinking too hard about his actions. No one screams "Hawks!", no one demands a picture. No one expects a damned thing from him, and it's…

well, he doesn't know how to feel.

So, he buys himself the most sickly sweet coffee he can find with the pittance of cash he was given. Sipping from the can, he wanders, barely realizing when one of his massive wings catches a passerby and almost bowls them over. Stumbling, he turns back with a slightly glazed look.

"Oh--shit, sorry. You alright?"

[thefiercestwings]

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