A Toy With Wings

Five

The little psychos make my day.

After the inappropriate version of Beauty and the Beast, I pack up, and meet the others at the exit of the organization headquarters.

I'm last. I apologize, but my words are swatted off by the others.

I glance at everybody else. I look like the odd one out in the group.

Evangeline's hair is way to fancy as usual, and it's in a french braid, and each streak used to braid was braided from three smaller braids, and each smaller braid, was in turn, braided from three even smaller braids...in a nutshell, way too fancy. She was in a fancy T-shirt and leggings, and she has readied her knife. Her white wings are folded, and edged with gold.

Kevin has changed out of his tunic, and has an adventure shirt on instead. His quiff hair is unusually messy, like he'd just repeatedly ran his hands through it. He is carrying a loaded backpack, and has his katana in his hand. His white wings are hidden under his adventure shirt, but the shirt has got a huge bump on it.

Jezebel the crazy punk, if possible, looks even crazier than usual. Her red pixie hair is in a shocking colour, and her wild brown eyes are wild. Her dark grey tank top is paired with a knotted tartan scarf around her shoulders as a shawl, and her jeans are slashed. She's holding a spear, and her silvery-gray wings are spread.

I'm the only one who isn't holding a weapon. My sickle is inside my bag.

"Weapon, Goldbloom," Evangeline smirks.

I roll my eyes. "What's our next move, team?"

Jezebel suggests that we try searching the gorges first, because the gorges overlook the caves.

Kevin agrees, and Evangeline disagrees, so I agree. We immediately set off.

Since we practically can't go on plane, by taxi or by ship, we have to go on foot. And that means having to hide our wings.

We folded each other's wings and hid our own behind our backpacks. As Evangeline did mine, I swear she plucked off a few of my feathers.

I concealed my sickle under my jacket. Evangeline hides her knife by tucking it inside her left wing carefully. This is rich coming from a supposed angel, but I hope she cuts herself.

Kevin can't hide his katana anywhere, since it's so long, so he has to stick it inside his bag. That will be a bit of a problem. Jezebel...well that fuckingly experienced genius uses her spear as a walking cane and puts on a really convincing limp.

Jezebel and I traced our route. Our quickest way to the gorges would be through a forest, for a journey of about three days on foot, or four and a half days on wing.

We set off, looking around for possible threats as we did. As soon as night fell, we had to stop.

Kevin lights an oil lamp. Evangeline talks me into cooking something over the lamp. Fun fact: it works.

We vote to stay put until morning. Jezebel volunteers watch.

After dinner of oil lamp-roasted bird, along with some weird red berries that Jezebel and Kevin picked, we decided to play truth or dare until somebody fell asleep.

"Or, truth or dare?" Evangeline asks me.

"Dare," I say without thinking.

"Okay. Write somebody here of your choice a love poem."

I sigh. "Well, I obviously can't write to Kev because I'm not gay, and who would be…"

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jezebel glare at me with her icy dark eyes, or did I imagine that?

"And I can't write to Youngspire because she obviously expected to receive this poem, so I'll write to Jezebel. Hope you don't mind."

Affronted, Jezebel shrugs.

I invent:

Hey Jezebel,
I can't really think of something that rhymes with 'Jezebel',
Wait, do I even have to rhyme?
'Cause that would be quite prime,
A psalm I have to write,
To endure this frightful night,
Borne from Truth or Dare,
A love poem for all I care.

Geez, guess I'm screwed,
'Cause mah rhymes aren't very good.

You're blonde, beautiful, and flaws you lack.
Kidding, though, your hair is black.
Goddamnit, why do I have to write this fucking poem,
Due to Evangeline Youngspire, but I guess I owe 'em,
But what I love best,
Better than all the rest,
I'm pretty sure it's sealed,
Jezebel Chesterfield.
Not gonna take you to a sunset,
Because the only thing I like about you so far is that you haven't annoyed me yet.

"I'm going to sleep," I lie angrily.

"G'night," says Kevin.

Just then, Evangeline's cell phone rings. Evangeline picks it up. "Youngspire speaking. Who is this?"

"Oh. My name is Whoodie. May I speak to Orson, or Miss Melody?"

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

Evangeline hands me the phone. The lamp illuminates her smirk.

"What do you want, Whoodie?" I ask tiredly.

"Miss Orson?" Whoodie says.

"I am not a fucking girl!" I roar. Evangeline recoils, and I smirk at the sight.

"Whatever. Miss Orson, can you tell us the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears?"

"Once upon a time, there lived a stupid blonde Goldilocks, who supports the stupid blonde stereotype. She was a fucking slut, a fucking thief, a fucking bully and a fucking bitch. That's exactly how fuckingly pathetic she is. One day, that bitch got her ass lost in the middle of the woods…"

Hey guys! Um…no offense to any blond readers I guess. Anybody else thinks that despite his denial, Orson is a great storyteller?

T.C.