CCCC/HMS Oneshots

blood feather (heart/soul)

A/N: one, y'all r concering me with your reactions to feast. no it isn't a continuation of calamity, the one prior (by the way if you haven't go check that out it describes my depiction of the juno incident and may be important moving on), it was just for fun. two, please if you have an idea request it, i need ideas and would be more than happy to write for you. three, luv you guys <3

"Soul! Soul! Sooouuulllll!"

Cries the man known for such, clambering through the hall in a paltry attempt to reach my room. Echoes tell of his talons scratching against set plaster, his hooves clattering against carpet, and an utter lone wing thrashing in irritation, all wailing panic. I lug myself to meet my door, my fingers haphazardly fondling the handle as a method of lamenting their exhaustion.

Heart seemed to have discovered the lever the same moment as I, as the door's edge nearly butchers my arm when it slashes at me. The man behind it wails, outstretching his arms blindly as he attempts to understand his surroundings, only to grasp onto the sherpa of my jacket's lining. He visibly winces and gives a yelp as an instinctive revulsion to the texture, retracting his hands with speed unmatched by even a marlin.

"What's your problem?" I inquire, watching his wing flounder behind him with irritation. Alarm constructs itself within my mind as I notice one of his primaries spitting blood onto the surrounding walls.

"My wing! There's something wrong with it!"

"Stop moving– you're getting it everywhere!"

I take a hold of his shoulder, dragging him to my sleeping quarter's edge. I rent my spot on the cushion and twirl him, tugging him to sit in my lap. One of my hands grasps at his bleeding wing to force its vexed flailing to pause, and its partner lines its way to the culprit of the bleeding.

"It's a blood feather." I mutter, clearing my vision's path to the antagonist. Since it's a primary, it is quite extensive; a very important feather. Although he doesn't fly, it still worries me to be plucking such a huge, vital quill.

"It'll grow back..." I reassure myself under my breath as my hand assumes a tripod grasp on the snapped plume, slowly climbing down the shaft. I take a solid grip on the base, as close to the wing's skin as I can achieve, and-

Pluck!

"OWWWW!!!"

Heart yowls, crimping over and tumbling onto the ground. I wince at the sight, as the new wound only drools more blood, but I suppose it was for the best. I stand and vivisect my desk drawer, my hand surfing through it for bandages and disinfectant.

My claws wrap around a roll of gauze and a bottle of antiseptic cleanser, plucking them from the drawer's innards. I crouch beside Heart, my hand gently hauling his injured wing to rest on my knees. The feathers part at the command of my fingers, allowing me access to the lesion, which seems to be attempting to start clotting for a scab.

I spray some disinfectant on the gash and flute the van to a simpler rectangular shape, before crossing an X over it with the bandages, effectively holding it still and secure.

"There we go." I pat his back gently as tears trickle from under his blindfold, "Now, go rest, okay? Don't touch it."

I benignly seize his wrist and opposing shoulder, and guide him to the exit.

"Soul," he whines, "it hurts."

"It would've hurt more if I didn't pluck it."

...

"I guess," he sniffles, wiping his nose with his sleeve, "thank you."

"Of course."