A Mockingbird In The Crows Nest

Lights, Camera, Moral Crisis!

When Tommy finally finishes preening his wings, his head is pounding from the effort, and the skin under his feathers prickles with a sharp ache that he knows won't fully go away for a day or so. Bright, candy red feathers litter the floor, and when he turns to check behind him; he finds even more stuck to the bottom of the bathtub. But hey, at least he got it over with, and he can move on.

With a heavy sigh, Tommy pushed to his feet. He tugged his shirt over his head- biting down a pained whine as the fabric slid over his sensitive feathers -and got to work cleaning up his mess.

Using a small trash bag he found under the sink, he slowly picked up his feathers one by one and dumped them in the bag. Some small, stupid part of his brain wants him to keep them, for some reason. And for a moment, he lingers on one particularly nice looking feather. It looked perfectly healthy sitting in his hands- but it clearly wasn't if the brush had picked it out. He wants to keep it. He wants to store it in his blankets to make it softer. But he dumps the feathers and bag into the kitchen bin and buries it under the other trash before he can entertain the idea.

There are pins and needles shooting through his wings with every jostle and slight movement, so he starts digging through the medicine drawer to find Tylenol or something to help. What he pulls out instead, is liquid ibuprofen.

Eh, good enough.

Just as he's twisting the cap off, the lock on the front door jingles, and Tommy hears the click of claws on wood; accompanied by the clomps of hooves. Sure enough, Spots rounds the corner with Tubbo in tow- who smiles at him when he spots Tommy at the counter.

"Oh, hey Tommy!" His eyes flick to the bottle in his hands as he takes the harness off of his dog. "Everything ok?"

He nodded, grabbing a little medicine cup from the drawer. "I'm fine. I just finished preening, is all."

Tommy was so preoccupied with pouring the right amount of the ibuprofen, that he missed the way Tubbo frowned as he hung Spots's leash up on a hook and stored away the harness.

"You need to take ibuprofen after you preen?" Tubbo clarified as Tommy put the cap back on the bottle.

He nodded, and downed the medicine. He cringed at the harsh taste, but cleared his throat. "Yeah. Preening isn't fun, but it's gotta be done."

Tubbo chewed on his lip, and Tommy paused to watch his expression for a moment. The goat hybrid shifted on his hooves like he was uncertain; and he ran his fingers through the dalmatian's fur to soothe himself. Tommy frowned. "What?"

"Well..It's just whenever Charon preens his wings, it seems nice. He'll get all bird-brained and he turns into a big pile of goo- especially when Peleus or Erebus preen them." He laughed a bit, like he was recalling a funny memory. "Even me. I've only done it once, and I am not qualified to preen avian wings- but he still got all mushy when I did it."

This time it was Tommy's turn to frown. "Why does he have other people do it? Does he not have a brush or comb?" Despite he and Charon's- at best -rocky relationship, he doesn't want the man to have to have other people do that to his wings. Tommy doesn't quite remember what it feels to have someone else's hands in his feathers since Raptor only did that for him when he was little and his feathers were too delicate for a brush. But Charon's an adult. Surely it can't be comfortable to have someone else pick through his wings and take out the loose ones. It's not a pleasant experience.