Ravenwings (Imaged + Completed) [1st in Trilogy]

Part I: Chapter 4

I grabbed the sharpest scissors in the house and turned my steps towards the stairs to the second floor.

"Melly, where you goin' with my good sewin' scissors? You ain't gonna cut yourself another one of them scandal, tiny tummy shirts?!" Grandma snapped. She waved her cane around a little as she spoke, looking bug-eyed as she peered at me through her glasses.

What do you mean 'another?' "I'm just going to trim my split ends. And you know I don't wear crop tops." I basically never leave home, why would I dress like that?

"Well, you better not. Coyote sees that! Coyote makes and sees all, so don't you be goin' around in them tummy shirts, he's the maker, you gotta make ya father proud! Tummy shirts is how the shapeshifter picks 'is victims. I used'a do it and now I know better!"

She was dead serious. Wow, there's a lot to unpack there. 

Grandma's greatest flaw was how firmly she believed in myths...but mostly just the ones that didn't seem to make sense.

"Don't worry Grandma, I'll be sure to watch out," I assured her.

"Good girl. Now you watch them tummy-shirts!"

"I will, don't worry." And with that I turned and went upstairs. How much are retirement homes again? Well, probably too expensive for someone whose granddaughter shops exclusively at thrift stores. And seriously needs to get a job, I thought sourly. Food stamps and Grandma's social security can't buy everything.

It was a relief to head back up the stairs, to the closet, and up to the attic, where Raven was down on his knees, sifting through a box of movies.

"I brought scissors. You need a haircut. Then I'll get you set with clothes...mind you, I'm not putting anything new on you until you take that shower."

He raised an eyebrow, eyes locked on the scissors as he defensively grabbed a handful the tangled hair.

"Come on, it's way too matted! It literally hasn't gotten cut in years! You're not Tarzan. Trust me, this needs to get done."

He shook his head.

"Is it...a culture thing?" I asked hesitantly, as I'd hesitantly wondered if he had Native American ancestry, cause I could at least semi-recognize someone with such heritage since I had classmates of such. "Or does it have something to do with the wings?"

He sighed, examining the matted hair, but finally admitted his long hair was unnecessary with the shake of his head.

"So...can I cut it? Because I don't think I could brush all these tangles out. You know, it might help even to make you less recognizable, since you seem kind of paranoid..." I noted. "Whoever's freaking you out can't spot you if you don't look like Tarzan."

He sighed, but nodded.

"Alright. So...go sit in the chair, and I'll do your haircut."

He did — slowly but surely, making his way towards the shutters, and sank down into the chair.