Clipped Wings

Albatross

Morning light gleams over feathers, bringing out plum from the deepest purple of the marginal coverts, creating dazzling pink where primary coverts overlap the band of white plumage. It gilds the snowy edges and creates velvet, violet shadows in the hollows of their structure. One wing flits back and that same early morning sunshine spills across your eyes. Your brows twitch, your nose scrunches in displeasure and you're pulled from your dreams by the sheen of crimson that's daylight through the veil of your eyelids.

It's two minutes before your alarm would wake you, just too little time to convince yourself you can take a cat nap. Outside your window, your winged brethren sing their merry chorus. You grouse at them as you roll from your covers, feet curling against the cold, unfriendly floor. You stretch your arms up, your wings wide, throw back your head, and yawn.

As the stretch reaches its zenith, you remember what day it is and your morning grumpiness dissipates under a rush of excitement.

It's the first day at your new job.

Today, you begin your life as a childcare specialist for the Hawks Agency Child Development Center.

It's a dream job. Sure, you're on the lowest rung for the moment, but even there the benefits are plenty. You have access to a 401k, stock options, health care and dental. In case of villain attack or natural disaster, there are emergency stipends, survivor benefits, and clauses for additional care and compensation. There are mandatory pay increases, for gods' sake.

That's par-for-the-course from what you've heard about the dashing young hero. He ensures his team has everything they need and more, much better than the older generations of heroes, who were "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" types.

It's a big team, too; there's an entire floor for PR and two for support item development. Childcare shares a level with a fully outfitted clinic, and there are balconies and outdoor additions everywhere so the winged hero can enter and leave where he pleases.

Working there will give you the life you've always dreamt of, you're sure of it.

The occasion calls for careful wardrobe contemplation; you settle on your best practical outfit— a royal purple blouse that complements the Tyrian tones in your glossy, freshly preened wings, black slacks with a little stretch for ease of movement, sensible black flats, sparkly studs the only jewelry because kids like shiny things.

Your makeup matches, understated, but nice. With the white lines running from the inner corner along your bottom lid, the black line at the outer upper edge, you don't need much on your face. The main addition is lipstick that brings the whole look together.

Today you opt to take public transport. Unlike Hawks, you can't fly everywhere all the time; your wings sap a lot of energy with use. Though, you remind yourself, you are a superb flier when you indulge. It just wouldn't do to arrive at work sweaty and unkempt on your first day; there will be plenty of time for that in the future, especially since you're working with children.

You reread the email throughout the short trip downtown, checking the details for where you're mandated to be when, any rules on dress code and employee behavior, parking— not that you have a car in this city— everything, just in case. It's all fairly standard, easy to follow, more relaxed than the average company. You're confident that you've got this.

You reach the tall, shiny building twenty minutes early and, by the time the elevator door dings to announce your arrival on the correct floor, it's sixteen minutes til.

Misaki, the receptionist for the floor, brightens when she spots you. "Oh, you're early!"

"You know what they say about the early bird," you quip to her amusement. "I like to take a few minutes to ease into things."