Metal Birds

Chapter 9: From Scotland to France

From the lands surrounding The Bridge of Earn, Scotland, to rural Melun, France, August 1934

When they arrived, Alastair was passed out at his table, the door wide open.

Arthur was surprised.

Alastair hadn't been a heavy drinker, barely thinking about alcohol for ages. His brothers marched in purposefully as Arthur lingered by the door of the low set hut, glancing uncertainly over his shoulder and down into the village in the hills far below. He turned back as he heard the bottle on the other side of the table be plucked up.

Dylan had the bottle in hand as Seamus stood behind the Scot, holding what might have been a rock and a pan, a nasty grin on his face. Arthur moved to speak, extending a hand as his wings fluffed out.

"Wait-!"

Before he could do anything, the remains of the whiskey were in Alastair's hair and Seamus was banging on the pan shouting, "WAKEY WAKEY ALLIE-BOY!"

The flaming-red head came up with a furious shout, and the moment his eyes snapped open it was clear that he was fuming. Dylan took as step back as the man stood, tripping slightly on his chair as he looked around frantically, a roar of anguish escaping his lips. Seamus vanished into the kitchen, peering from the corner.

"What the hell is the big idea!?" He exclaimed, raising a hand to his head in a clear annoyance. Dylan just stepped back again as Alastair looked around once more.

His eyes landed on Arthur. The man groaned, sitting back in his chair as his fiery red wings slumped to the floor, and he gripped his hair. "..hm, that better not be Arthur."

He found himself biting his lip as Dylan, being the calmest and easiest to get along with of all of them -even though he was mischievous- stepped forward.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you Allie, but it's best you get packing."

He sat up, turning to Arthur with a glare so menacing he was sure it could down a bull.

"And where've you been the last century, huh?"

Arthur didn't answer, glancing down at his feet. Their tallest brother laughed, sounding annoyed.

"Why'd you come here then? To torture me just like these two bozos? Hah!?" He sounded incredibly aggravated, probably a hangover from downing most of a bottle of whiskey.

"No, actually."

The Scot let out a huff, and Arthur peered up slightly to see him staring down past his nose.

"What is it then?"

"We need you in Egypt."

"Is that so? Why should I care?"

"Because the rest of us are going, and Francis said he wants to hear what you have to say."

"What's it about?"

"There was an assassination. In Austria. They think the Beilshmidts are stirring up trouble again."

There was a long silence, and Arthur looked up fully.

The angry Scottish angel had turned his gaze down, looking almost as if he was muttering to himself, gripping onto the edge of his table. He glanced up at Arthur, narrowing his eyes in suspicion, before turning back to Dylan, who just nodded quietly. He then looked at Seamus, who didn't say anything.

The pause seemed to last for centuries as Arthur became aware of his two brothers growing close to the door, shifting their feathers nervously as Arthur wrung his wrists so anxiously. Alastair stared back at them, seemingly aware of their trepidation.