dot.

2: Wings?

  The place where they kept him was actually quite nice, although he wasn't sure why they bothered.

  A large, spacious room; perfect for flying, filled with a variety of branches, perches, hanging fruits and hiding places. The walls were still white, but at least the ground was coated in grass- even if it was artificial.

  The Doctor brought the table-chair to a stop on a jutting balcony that overlooked the rest of the room. She quickly fixed his neck in a brace to make sure the stitches wouldn't split again and undid the straps holding him captive before disconnecting the heart monitor and turning to face him, blonde curls bouncing with every movement of her head. "Do you think you can fly?"

  Dot shook his head.

  "Can you walk?"

  He shrugged in response.

  She sighed, lifting him roughly from the table-chair and placing his feet on the floor while looking at him expectantly. His feet were awkward and not made for walking, five digits of equal length covered in hair with claws at the end and a small palm that lead the whole appendage to look very handlike.

  Still, she clearly wanted him to walk and so he had better try. He shuffled uncomfortably across the floor, the flap of skin that joined his legs making it difficult to spread them.

  Eventually, he reached the edge of the balcony. The Doctor raised an eyebrow at him before snorting and leaving the room, taking the table-chair with her.

  Dot spread his wings- arms? He never had been quite sure of what to call them. From his shoulders the limbs became very skinny and pale, looking more like bare bones than anything else. Four of his five digits were incredibly spindly and fragile, long enough to brush the floor when relaxed and resembling the pale legs of a housespider. His thumb jutted out from the main wing, an appendage much more stubby and independent than its counterparts, topped with a claw that was routinely filed down to the root to prevent any attempt to fight back. Most noticably, of course, was the gigantic sheet of black skin that clung to the fingers- a thin, veiny, leather-like material that began at the underside of his arm and was attached to his ankle at the bottom. Bat wings.

  He shrugged his shoulders to relive the aches that came from sitting still for too long, wincing slightly at the pain from the back of his neck. The neck brace did help with the pain, as much as he hated to admit it.

  There was a small bowl full of mango hanging from the ceiling at the edge of the balcony, and he hurried towards it as fast as he could with his clumsy feet. The effects of the beverage from earlier were beginning to wear off now, leaving him famished.

  Using his mouth to lick food from the bowl, he quickly slurped up all the mango it contained, letting himself enjoy it as much as he could until the bowl was empty. He saw some more of the golden fruit sitting in another plastic bowl on the other side of the room, but wasn't sure if he would be able to get to it. Trying to fly would irritate the wound on his neck, and so that was out of the question. Perhaps he could try to walk there?

  He shuffled off of the white balcony where he had been standing and stepped onto a wooden perch attached to the end of it, gripping the material with his feet tightly. They wrapped around it, blunt claws digging into any grooves that could be found in the rough surface.

  Taking slow, steady steps across the wood, he eventually reached the end. He had nearly fallen a few times and each time had stretched his wings out to regain his balance, therefore moving his wound. There was blood slowly dribbling down the back of his neck, but it wasn't too bad. He would heal.

  There was a camera on the top right wall, an unnatural flash of silver encased in a tough plastic case so that he couldn't damage it. He could feel it staring, its beady eye fixed onto him as it observed his progress.

  Now he had reached the end of the perch, here came the problem. The next perch was below him, and he saw no plausible way of getting there without having to fly or jump. Scouring the area for a different option, he spied a bunch of hanging fruit, draped from a perch that was angled above him. The perch itself was out of reach, but the fruit? He could get to that. Probably.

  Problem was, the branch may snap. He didn't weigh much, a small, skinny figure combined with hollow bones doesn't make for a heavy person. Animal? Hybrid? He shook his head to rid himself of those sorts of thoughts. It was too confusing to think about.

  Turning his attention back to the fruit, he noticed it was quite a thick branch, for a fruit bunch, but he wasn't willing to risk the deadly fall to the floor if it did snap while he clung to it.

  Was there any other way of using the perch below him?

  He bent at the knees to get a proper look below him, unable to bend his neck to check. At second glance, the bottom branch was closer than he had thought.

  Deciding this was the better option, he shuffled his feet a little closer to the edge and took in a deep breath, bracing himself for what he was about to do next.

  He slowly, gently moved slightly sideways. And then a little more. And more. And even more, until he was almost completely upside-down. He edged his left foot off the perch again and drew it back further down the underside of the perch, misjudging where he was about to place it at the last second.

  His left foot weakly scraped the perch, not taking hold and subsequently falling, leaving his right leg straining and taking all his weight.

  The right foot slipped, just a little bit. Not enough to make him fall, but enough to steal his breath and make his heart beat wildly in the anticipation.

  He swung his left towards the perch, watching in agony as it brushed the underside but was not able to grab hold. His right foot slipped again.

  Now feeling the blood from his neck steadily dripping up through his hair as he hung upside-down, he made one last effort to get on the perch. Swinging the foot towards the perch, aiming and concentrating on getting it right so hard that his right foot completely slipped away.

  His mouth opened in a silent cry as his body began to fall.

  At the last second, his left managed to hook itself into a hold in the wood, supporting him in the few seconds it took to get his right back to where it was before.

  Now he was not in immediate danger of falling, he relaxed his upper body, keeping his feet and legs wrapped around the branch as tightly as he could get them.

  He opened his dry mouth and bit down on the perch below him, feeling his teeth lock themselves into the grooves along its brown surface.

  Now for the hard part. He took his feet a little closer to the edge of the perch so that they were nearly hanging off of it, took another deep breath as drool began to pool on the lower perch, braced himself, and let go.

  His feet flew through the air as he angled his body so that they would land on the perch he was clinging to. In a painful smack, his lower body hit the perch and he immediately wrapped his legs around it and dislodged his jaw from the wood.

  From here it was easy, so he allowed himself to take a moment to relax and recuperate. His body shook from the leftover adrenaline as he forced himself to take deep, steady breaths to recover.

  Once he felt clear-headed enough to go on, he did a few quick shuffles and hops along perches of various sizes until he had reached his prize.

  Gobbling up the golden fruit, he eyed the camera. He was shocked they hadn't intervened- he could have died there. They probably wanted to see if he could figure it out by himself.

  He decided not to think about that right now, and finished the last few pieces of mango peacefully.