Metal Birds

Chapter 56: An Old Sniper's Rifle

The Athenian Peninsula, August 3, 1941

The place was small. Not in a way that made him feel claustrophobic, but in a way that made him oddly comfortable. He found it amusing that Greece was the place of all places where he could feel at ease, especially given its current state. The rifle sat at his side, and he was laying on his stomach. He had taken to wrapping his coat about his waist, wearing his old white undershirt in an attempt to ward off the heat. It was a baggy thing, old, the sleeves large enough to hand over about his elbows. It made him feel scrawny.

A lot of things made him feel small, however.

The looming structure above him was one of the more notable things. The Parthenon was an ancient obelisk sticking up like a sore thumb in a place overrun, lacking any sort of beauty with that obvious exception.

It was an early morning, and a misty day, and he held his clip in hand. He was seated lazily on the roof of a small building, something that most likely served as a cafe on its first floor. The sides of the building rose just enough to hide him up to the wild mop of blonde hair atop his head, and every so often he turned to glance at the hotel across the street.

There was a Captain in there. Not a big target, but a target nonetheless. Something to do.

He shifted, gripping onto his rosary. He had still been dreaming. Dreaming about Bella, though even in that dream he didn't really feel alone. It was an odd sensation. He knew, somewhere deep inside, that there was someone there. Or something. Either ruining him or encouraging him.

He let out a small sigh. He was still in a worrisome state. He could see the shadow of the nun every time he closed his eyes, though it didn't feel daunting, it felt morose.

It was a presence he felt in his dreams, always cut short at a chaste kiss.

"What're you trying to tell me?" He found himself mumbling under his breath, gripping onto the rosary as if it would tell him something.

He was given no response but the birds overhead.

Arthur sighed, sitting upright as he heard people walking along on the path below. He peered over. Nothing important, merely the pair of guardsmen that had been there since that morning. There was no movement in the windows. He sighed, moving to drop his rosary and let it hang about his neck, moving to pull out his bad feathers.

It was a bad, bad habit.

After some while of waiting, he heard the door creak open, and the two guardsmen shift, stamping their feet in a salute. He pulled up his gun speedily, took a moment to make sure it was loaded, and finally put the scope to his eye.

He could see the man walking, oh so slowly. Completely oblivious. Arthur took a breath, is finger dancing on the trigger for only a moment, before he pulled it.

CRACK

The man was gone now, replaced by a splat of blood on the door frame, his hat falling to the ground. He had thirty seconds to leave if he left now, his wings were a wonderful distraction, whether he liked it or not. So, slinging to weapon over his shoulder, and making sure his coat was tight about his waist, he stuck a foot up on the edge of the building's rooftop, pushing off, wings outspread.

He faced upward now, beating his wings frantically to push himself through to the clouds.

Nineteen, twenty, twenty one, twenty two-

BANG

The bullets started to whiz by at his feet, but he ignored it, he had to.

Before the thirty seconds had ended, he was up in the clouds, and circling, awaiting for the calm to settle nervously again. Then, he would return to the earth and wait.