There's a tapping at Evelyn's window, late that day as the sun just begins to set. The clatter of beak against glass is not a constant thing, far from it -- closer to the polite few raps of a visitor come to call.
Sitting perched (rather precariously for its size) at the ledge is an enormous, scarlet and gold bird. Though nearly the size of a swan and trailing a tail more than fit for any self-respecting pheasant, the narrow muscular head and sharp hook of its beak would be a sight more at home upon any bird of prey.
Its beady black eyes peer and cant as it shuffles back and forth, waiting patiently outside the pane. Yes hello, I am a bird.
Evy's first thought is to go to the door, but of course, the noise isn't like someone knocking on wood at all. When she catches sight of the huge bird lurking outside the window, she starts, squeaking a little, before coming a little closer to examine the creature.
It's beautiful, whatever it is, and it hardly looks aggressive. Something about its little eyes is nearly intelligent--and after a moment's consideration, she opens the window. "What're you doing out here?" she asks, murmuring to it as she might her cat.
Fawkes tips his head to her, hopping inside with the rustle of wings. His neck cranes up to her, without sign of wariness, and he lets out a soft musical cry before turning his attentions back to the room. His beak twists over to preen at a feather, apparently at home.
If any of this strikes the bird as unusual, he gives no sign.
It's a lovely creature--a bird unlike any she's seen, such that she'd be hard-pressed to put a name to it--and extraordinarily well behaved. But at the same time...well, what on earth is it doing here?
Evy, human and reasonably patient, is willing to look at the bird and ponder this. Her cat, rather a large beast as feline standards go, is not a bit human. He's also possessed of the belief that his thick, rusty black fur makes him both invincible and invisible; he saunters over to the bird and reaches up to bat at its dangling tail feathers.
He squawks -- not unlyrical, but out of place all the same, a startled sound from someone nodding off in the brass section. His wings flap open wide, looming with intent stare over Amewbis before shuffling back into place. There's no sign of any further threat or intimidation towards the cat, but the look that it shoots Evy is almost aggrieved.
Evy frowns at the bird, then glances down to where her cat has a tailfeather between his teeth. "Really, Mewby," she says, trying to shoo him away from the bird, "you're startling our guest."
She tries not to talk to the cat like it's as bright as any human (and sorry, Evy, but it is not) when others are around, but who's a bird going to tell?
Fawkes will refrain from judgment on that count, but the matter of teeth and tails is a far more pressing one -- he flicks his feathers up, just a bit further out of reach...and remarkably like dangling a cat toy.
Amewbis, well-trained in the art of stalking his toys, wriggles his bottom and jumps, pouncing at the bird's tail feathers with every intent of using his body weight to drag the creature down to the floor with him.
Fawkes is a heavy bird, but caught off-balance, unprepared -- he lets out a hoarse, undignified, and most unmelodic squawk before going down like a lead balloon.
He's enough presence of mind not to want to hurt the cat, but those heavy wings buffet out anyway, trying to (gently!) beat the horrible thing back. Why does anyone even domesticate these??? Thanks for nothing, Egypt.
Wow, Fawkes, shut your mouth about Egypt. Where would you be without cats?
All right, not on the floor, with a cat attempting ineffectually to break your neck with its hind feet. But still.
The problem with Mewby's plan to murder Fawkes in cold blood is that if you've got a bird by its tail, kicking it doesn't actually do much. Especially not when the bird is smarter than you. Especially not when your owner swoops in without thought for bites or scratches and pulls you off.
The cat meows and meows as Evy carries him over to the loo and shuts him in, but she's more concerned for their feathery guest. Muttering things like "Oh, dear" and "Please be all right," she does her best to inspect the bird for injuries.
The real shit luck of being an intensely magical creature with innate, undreamed of healing properties is that once they're gone, you're pretty much fucked. Fawkes is going to be limping on that scratched leg a while, he suspects, and as he preens at a loose tailfeather (there's nothing to be done save to yank it out completely) there's a distinct air of wounded dignity.
He leaves the feathers on the floor, hops back up to the table, and edges towards the sill. Nice meeting you, Evelyn. So nice. Such friend. Wow.
Evy reaches out to touch the bird, perhaps try to figure out just how injured it is--then hesitates and stops, because really, if it's limping away, then she really ought to let it.
"I'm sorry," she tells it, however silly it is to apologize to a bird. "He didn't mean to hurt you, really."
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hot hot feathery action
Sitting perched (rather precariously for its size) at the ledge is an enormous, scarlet and gold bird. Though nearly the size of a swan and trailing a tail more than fit for any self-respecting pheasant, the narrow muscular head and sharp hook of its beak would be a sight more at home upon any bird of prey.
Its beady black eyes peer and cant as it shuffles back and forth, waiting patiently outside the pane. Yes hello, I am a bird.
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It's beautiful, whatever it is, and it hardly looks aggressive. Something about its little eyes is nearly intelligent--and after a moment's consideration, she opens the window. "What're you doing out here?" she asks, murmuring to it as she might her cat.
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If any of this strikes the bird as unusual, he gives no sign.
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Evy, human and reasonably patient, is willing to look at the bird and ponder this. Her cat, rather a large beast as feline standards go, is not a bit human. He's also possessed of the belief that his thick, rusty black fur makes him both invincible and invisible; he saunters over to the bird and reaches up to bat at its dangling tail feathers.
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She tries not to talk to the cat like it's as bright as any human (and sorry, Evy, but it is not) when others are around, but who's a bird going to tell?
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He's enough presence of mind not to want to hurt the cat, but those heavy wings buffet out anyway, trying to (gently!) beat the horrible thing back. Why does anyone even domesticate these??? Thanks for nothing, Egypt.
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All right, not on the floor, with a cat attempting ineffectually to break your neck with its hind feet. But still.
The problem with Mewby's plan to murder Fawkes in cold blood is that if you've got a bird by its tail, kicking it doesn't actually do much. Especially not when the bird is smarter than you. Especially not when your owner swoops in without thought for bites or scratches and pulls you off.
The cat meows and meows as Evy carries him over to the loo and shuts him in, but she's more concerned for their feathery guest. Muttering things like "Oh, dear" and "Please be all right," she does her best to inspect the bird for injuries.
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He leaves the feathers on the floor, hops back up to the table, and edges towards the sill. Nice meeting you, Evelyn. So nice. Such friend. Wow.
Albus clearly needs better taste.
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"I'm sorry," she tells it, however silly it is to apologize to a bird. "He didn't mean to hurt you, really."
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And then gets the fuck out of dodge.