Clipped Wings

Chapter 2: Terms & Conditions

A pain in Myghal's shoulder caused him to shift. Or try to. His body wouldn't cooperate and ached all over. Especially his head. Any movement caused pain to jolt down his neck to his ribs. Opening his eyes didn't help either. The light behind them set alight a headache, feeling as if someone were squeezing around his crown.

He turned his forehead into the floor, something cool and slick. My helmet. Where's my helmet? Grunting against restricted movement, he found his arms locked behind his back, cuffed tight.

"Aw, sleep well?" That was the only thing that could make this worse; that voice. As dangerous as something feral but as smooth as silk. Myghal turned his head, squinting through the brightly lit cell to the figure he expected to be sitting across from him.

The walls, floor and ceiling all looked to be made of the same, seamless material. White, cold, filling the space with light from no distinguishable source. Myghal looked around before back to Ira, cheek squishing against the floor.

The cloak and hood was missing, chest plate, weapons and rope too. Ira looked strange without them, small in the high neck compression top. Leaned against the wall, with his knees bent up, the only clue to his rage was the slow, rhythmic tap of one boot. Myghal guessed his hands were also restrained with the way his shoulders were angled back. There were a few scrapes and scratches to his face, purple marks against his pale blue complexion, but his violet feathers seemed untouched. With a jump of the brows, he cocked his head dramatically, smile artificial and a bit creepy.

"Where are we?" Myghal grumbled.

"In holding," Ira's mouth pulled back in a toothy grin, deranged. "Waiting for a Cite to come and interrogate us."

"For what?" he barked, lifting his head making his neck ache. He lie back down.

"For the location of your 'little buddy'." The smile withered into a pointed glare, more terrifying in a way more himself. Myghal shut his eyes with a deep sigh. Using his forehead he strained to sit up. "Lucky for you, he was a little con artist."

Myghal's hair had fallen out of it's tie, tangled and hanging in his face. He shook his head to move it. Working with Ira was something he was starting to hate because he was always wrong. He'd never admit it, but he was. And it wasn't that he hated he was wrong as much as how cold and pessimistic Ira was. That's what he didn't want to lose to. He didn't want to accept Ira's way of thinking. The universe wasn't all bad. It couldn't be.

"And since he was your buddy, we're guilty by association. Happy now?"

"I was just trying to help."

"Incredible job, by the way. Few days on the job and you've not only been captured but lost your Hailite armor. Stellar start." Ira had a gift for that tone, honeyed and kind, but the words maimed.

"You didn't have to come with me. I told you to go back to the skiff."

Ira frowned, pinching and wrinkling the white dot markings around his eyes. A lip twitched, beginning to argue or snarl when a wall flashed open.

"To your feet," the soldier ordered.

Cites almost looked Human. Similar in structure with larger eyes, taller forms, giant wings, and feathers instead of hair. Myghal kept his eyes averted, knowing better than to look them in the face. Ira pushed himself up the wall and Myghal did his best to stand in one motion. His shoulder was grabbed and he was torn out into the dim hall. A second Cite was there to meet him, hand pressing his head down and leading him away.

"Where are we going?" Ira's question spiked into an airless grunt, followed by a hollow pang against the wall.

"Quiet, Kai'ka. Move." Footfalls staggered after and there was at least some relief that they were headed in the same direction. Myghal still didn't have all the pieces. Ira himself was Cite, much smaller than these soldiers, and without wings, but a Cite nonetheless. Perhaps his missing wings were the reason they treated him this way, as if he were as useless as a Human.