#//birb boy amgery

[originemesis]

@deathinfeathers xxx

If at any point she had been tempted to lay her hands on him in anger it would be in this exact, singular, isolated instant. Isolated because she cannot feasibly begin to conceptualize what he could possibly do to ever raise her hackles any higher than he has with this bullshit retort. That he has the unbridled gall, not only to give her lip; as if this were some average Saturday evening lover's quarrel centered around something as inconsequential as who threw a wrench into tonight's dinner plans by failing to take the cutlets out of the freezer, but to get choked up while he's at it. Did you forget who I am? He says, as if she should have known better. As if she should have...what? Taken his serenade in the garden as some type of premonition? A foreshadowing? She knew he was a disaster. From the moment she was dropped into his arms with a ribbon and a blank where a name should be like a puppy on Christmas morning, she knew. And she was fine with it. Never has there been a moment where she let herself assume that he had his shit together—God knows he made it impossible to fall prey to such a misbelief. But, again, it was fine. It was always fine. More than fine, even. There was an odd sense of catharsis to be found in the chaos that he sowed. She enjoyed watching the bureaucrats squirm and clutch their rosaries whenever he walked into a room, that he was the word disruption given corporeal shape to their simple, sanitized lives in the same manner that she herself was. It was fine, because at the end of the day, no matter how he was spurned for his provocative ways and how she was abhorred for her grizzly nature, they had each other.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question." Words flow like ice water past the tapered crests of the pearly glaciers between her lips. She cannot query him on what the fuck he was thinking at the time—or what the fuck he's been thinking for the past four hundred and something years until he starts giving it to her straight. And by Sera's immaculately polished taint, he will—even if she has to sit here and autopsy him with her eyes for another godforsaken century, he will. "time to rip the band-aid off, don't you think? I mean, ideally you would have begun picking at it at the very least, a few hundred years ago. Better late than never, though, hmm?" She's sure the proximity is suffocating to him, fingers still lingering against his skin like surgeon's scalpels. A free hand rises to capture a lock of his hair between the pads of two digits. Loosely twisting. There's no warmth in her ministrations, just a reminder that she is here and she will not be escaped.

Sure, he'd been far sweeter to her than in the past in the months leading up to their final extermination together. Perhaps not so much during the battle itself when Lucifer's brat dared to show up for a confrontation that was never hers to intervene in and ruin the restrictions of his contract with her whore mother by looking so chokeable. Such was his temper every year when faced with the scuttling and skittering shadows that filled hell and excited his avian urge to trap wriggling beasts beneath talons- to tear and rip until all was right in the garden of his mind again. Anyone that got in his way was subject to the innate ire he's carried ever since the world's first betrayal- even her. A space rock shared between them was sweet and all, but it was hardly a muzzle.

It had been easier for him to ignore the real reasons why they entered hell together every year. They'd done it so often that it had finally started to feel like something that just was and would always be- a purpose...a reason for being. Ultimately a reason for them being together, for what was a commander without his lieutenant in the grand scheme of a seraphim's plan to keep heaven safe? Only when heaven was safe, it meant there was no reason for him to be there anymore since it was clear that no one had a reason for him being there to begin with. He would not fade into obscurity again...he would not be left behind again. He'd make sure no one would ever abandon him. How could she if her only purpose was tied to his? Lie that it was. They could never be apart in the end, even if he thought she could find her own place without him now with her at the head of his so called legacy.

"You're fucking rhetorical." He hisses through clenched teeth, finding it hard to fall beneath her scrutiny now- unmasked in more ways than simply being without his helmet. "There's nothing you'll ever be able to tell me about what I've done that I don't already fucking know. Why even scratch at it at all?!" But even if he hadn't, something was starting to bleed through his guise - rather the lack of one now that he was growing into the features that were always under the surface and yet struggled to break through no matter how much his bullish behaviors disrupted the heavens that tolerated him for so long.

The soft pads of her fingers twisting at his hair was no longer the sweet gesture he might stir awaken to and press into to remind himself that despite everything - she was there and would stay with him... now it was some effort on her part to determine what sort of animal he was. Better to show her now so she'd stop torturing him under her thinly veiled judgement.

"You want to see me so bad, babe...? You want something REAL?"

With a sharp twist of his neck, he butted the stubby end of a horn nub against her persistent pinching, a growl growing in his throat until it thundered out. The reverberations distorted him- or rather revealed what had been there all along. Tipped ears punctured with the metal of a melted down halo disappeared behind a couple of golden feather tufts while flesh darkened to a shade of a starless universe save for the two pinpricks of gold that signaled he still had sight despite it being reduced to singular grains of sand. A forked tongue fell free all the way past his chin where it could curl underneath and comfort the curve of the lump in his throat after issuing her a warning snarl.

"LOOK- AT ME THEN!" Claws curled in and flexed against his palms as the ends of his elbows sprouted more feathers forming a fan between them and up the bottom of his forearms that wrapped tightly around his ribs as he grew in place with a lurch above the talons that erupted out of his feet and dug into the ground- chicken feet, or some prehistoric rendition of them keeping him perched at the tips of their talons with a fanned tail lashing behind him for balance. He'd stuff it all back down in a moment- mask it under the strength it took to keep the disgusting display under wraps, but first...he needed to drive her away- and this time, maybe she'd stay gone.

"Is THIS what you want?!" This was real.

#//birb boy amgery #//the chaos chicken comes out in full force #verse ; // dead on arrival #long post #deathinfeathers #//it's a writing struggle day feel free to bully me about what any of this means on dms lolol