Eighth Memory: 9/28/13 Content: I can't dawdle, but I can enjoy the search. It's a lovely fall day, crisp and cool with a kind sun and a mostly steady crosswind, baffled a little by the old skyscrapers. Stars peek through the clouds, through the pulsing changing colors of the sky. The magnetic pull and rippling is thus, the smell of the place is so, I can hear the ocean against the shores and the wind against the mountains etching the shape of this island and the chain it's part of, the softer hum of that crosswind against the crumbling buildings.
And I'm in flight, wings wide and white, alternating powerful strokes and moments of gliding, delicately tacking against the wind at points. The cracked concrete and burnt out cars and renewing greenery below me seems to flow by faster as I descend. I take in what I can see through mostly-shattered windows as I pass.
It has been a very long time since the city was abandoned, long enough that bodies are gone or unrecognizable, wild animals are about and fearless, and plants have seized on everything. Still there are old furnishings, decayed heaps of cloth, abandoned technology, swaths of graffiti about the End Times.
The skies aren't mine alone, of course, and there are not only innocent feral birds out flying. But I'm confident that I won't be spotted. I am very, very good at not being seen. The point is to find these people quickly, before anyone less kindly inclined does, and they should be-
Ah, there! I adjust my tail and wings and swing around, back towards a point I've just passed. Here the skyscraper's walls themselves are eroding and leaving their floors and rusting steel frames visible. Here, deeper inside, partially obscured by the darkness, there is a band of four furtive humans, wearing as humans do stitched mammal skins and donated clothing, head bedraggled, stained and matted with their own sweat and oils.
When they finally see me headed towards them, flaring my wings and slowing, they tense and ready their weapons. I see curved swords, a mace, and the last one is raising a bow. It doesn't upset me, I know humans can have trouble telling us apart. At any rate, they'll know my phrase.
I open my mouth and call it out to them as I come in for the landing, loud enough that they hear, not so loudly that it will bring anyone else. "Sexy and Suave!" Cause: Occupying an apocalyptically run-down house.
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Content: I can't dawdle, but I can enjoy the search. It's a lovely fall day, crisp and cool with a kind sun and a mostly steady crosswind, baffled a little by the old skyscrapers. Stars peek through the clouds, through the pulsing changing colors of the sky. The magnetic pull and rippling is thus, the smell of the place is so, I can hear the ocean against the shores and the wind against the mountains etching the shape of this island and the chain it's part of, the softer hum of that crosswind against the crumbling buildings.
And I'm in flight, wings wide and white, alternating powerful strokes and moments of gliding, delicately tacking against the wind at points. The cracked concrete and burnt out cars and renewing greenery below me seems to flow by faster as I descend. I take in what I can see through mostly-shattered windows as I pass.
It has been a very long time since the city was abandoned, long enough that bodies are gone or unrecognizable, wild animals are about and fearless, and plants have seized on everything. Still there are old furnishings, decayed heaps of cloth, abandoned technology, swaths of graffiti about the End Times.
The skies aren't mine alone, of course, and there are not only innocent feral birds out flying. But I'm confident that I won't be spotted. I am very, very good at not being seen. The point is to find these people quickly, before anyone less kindly inclined does, and they should be-
Ah, there! I adjust my tail and wings and swing around, back towards a point I've just passed. Here the skyscraper's walls themselves are eroding and leaving their floors and rusting steel frames visible. Here, deeper inside, partially obscured by the darkness, there is a band of four furtive humans, wearing as humans do stitched mammal skins and donated clothing, head bedraggled, stained and matted with their own sweat and oils.
When they finally see me headed towards them, flaring my wings and slowing, they tense and ready their weapons. I see curved swords, a mace, and the last one is raising a bow. It doesn't upset me, I know humans can have trouble telling us apart. At any rate, they'll know my phrase.
I open my mouth and call it out to them as I come in for the landing, loud enough that they hear, not so loudly that it will bring anyone else. "Sexy and Suave!"
Cause: Occupying an apocalyptically run-down house.