Chapter Text
Luxurious, traditional-style houses line up on the sides of a road in the autumnal woods. The sun rises, painting the already pleasant atmosphere with its warm light. The homes are quiet for now, but gradually the people in them will stir to consciousness to enjoy this beautiful world.
Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-bee–
The screeching of the alarm clock is halted by the tired swing of Hero’s scaly, taloned hand. His eyes open slowly as he drags himself out of bed, placing his feet on the floor. He stretches his feathered arms above his head as he yawns.
His senses are greeted by a sizzling downstairs, joined by a savory, greasy, appetizing scent. It inspires hunger in him. The door creaks open as he leaves the room, walking through the hallway and down the stairs that announce his presence with each step. Downstairs, Hero encounters several other bird-like people. In the living room, Stubborn and Skeptic are relaxing on the couch–-Skeptic scrolling on his phone and drinking a coffee, while Stubborn keeps a close eye on the kitchen, where Cold is cooking breakfast. The sizzling of bacon continues as he begins to slice various fruits with a disquieting efficiency.
“You scare me with that knife, Cold.” Hero says, voice still scratchy from a good night’s rest as he approaches the kitchen.
“I don’t see the problem,” Cold replies calmly, in contrast to the rapid tap of the knife against the cutting board.
“I-I mean, you could cut yourself, man.”
“You don’t trust my knife handling?” Cold takes a break from cutting fruits to turn to Hero, waving the knife flippantly in his direction.
“No, I-I mean… Whatever.” Hero walks behind Cold and goes to the pantry. Reaching up, he takes a box of bland cereal and brings it over to the table, followed by the milk, a bowl, and a spoon. He enjoys a bowl of cereal.
Stubborn grumbles. “I’m still waiting on those pancakes, Cold. And I don’t even see the box of mix.”
Skeptic chimes in, glancing up from his phone with an annoyed look. “Why would you want them from Cold, then? You know he’s just gonna take his sweet time.”
Stubborn turns to Skeptic with a growl. “Well, he was asking, and I was hungry!”
“Then go get something yourself,” Skeptic spits back as he gets back to scrolling and sipping coffee. Stubborn turns away with another grunt, and Cold pretends to ignore them with a subtle smile.
“Where’s everyone else?” Hero asks between scoops of cereal.
Skeptic answers. “Hunted and Contrarian are still in that treehouse they built in the backyard, Opportunist got up early for work, Cheated and Paranoid probably pulled an all-nighter, Smitten must be on the balcony still, and Broken’s likely gonna stay in bed for another few hours.”
“Is anyone gonna check up on him? I always worry about that guy.” Hero looks around to the crowd.
Cold shrugs. “I wouldn’t. He’s exhausting to talk to, really.”
“Well, he’s our friend, I can’t just leave him alone to mope all day.”
“I could.”
“Easy for you to say!”
After some time of quiet, occasionally broken by small talk, Cold places a plate on the table. “Oh, Stubborn~” Cold chimes with a calm yet devious tone, “Breakfast is ready.”
“Fuckin’ finally.” Stubborn gets up from the couch and trudges over to eat. “Hey, wait… Oh, you bastard!”
“What’s the matter? Don’t want blueberry pancakes?”
Stubborn grumbles. Whatever he would say, it would only make Cold happier. He picks up the fork and eats the pancakes, despite his disdain for the flavor. Meanwhile, Cold enjoys a complete breakfast of blueberry pancakes, bacon, and an assortment of fresh fruits.
As for Hero, after he finishes his bowl of cereal, he clears his dishes and then goes upstairs. After walking past various doors, closed and open, he approaches one commonly shut door. He knocks a few times. "Broken, buddy? You up?" After a pause, he knocks again, and he was met with a defeated groan. "Can I come in?"
"Whatever..." Broken mutters, just barely audible through the door. Hero creaks it open and steps inside the dark room, sunlight blocked by closed blinds.
"Mornin', Broken," Hero says, calm and empathetically, as he steps towards the bed. Broken sits on it, hugging his feathered knees with a blanket wrapped around him. "What's the matter?"
"I just don't want to leave... Nobody else treats me right..."
"Well, you're missing out on breakfast, mate, and I can't let you stay locked up in this dark room all day. Listen, buddy, I'm not gonna let 'em bother ya. Promise," Hero nods.
Broken considers his options, eyes dancing around Hero's frame until he reaches a decision. "Okay," he says reluctantly. The blanket falls around him as Broken gets out of bed.
Across the street, one of the other large houses slowly begins to stir with people.
Den snores loudly as she sleeps sprawled across the top of the couch. Witch sits on the same couch, plucking at her phone with an empty granola bar wrapper in front of her on the coffee table. Her nose twitches as she smells a presence behind her on the stairs. She leans up and peeks over Den’s large and wild form. Damsel steps down the stairs gracefully.
Damsel’s eyes widen when Witch’s suddenly lock onto her. “Oh,” she whispers, “I didn’t think anyone would be up. Morning!”
“What are you doing up this early?” Witch interrogates.
“I wanted to get a head start on breakfast for us!” Damsel’s innocent smile gleams with the brightness of the sun. Witch squints at the smile and flicks her tail.
“Go ahead, then,” Witch says, her voice sharp.
“I will! Do you want to h–”
“No.”
“Okay!” Damsel goes to the kitchen. During the next few minutes, the sweet aroma of batter flowing into the waffle iron wakes up Den. She slouches off of the couch, leaving behind a solid layer of shed fur on the couch. She pokes her head into the kitchen, watching Damsel cook with her gaze fixed on the waffle iron. Damsel notices and turns around. “Not yet! Give them some time to cook. I’ll give you one early, though!” Den, satisfied with this offer, turns back and reenters the living room.
Witch grunts at something on her phone. “Ugh. How did that lovesick bird get my number?” She glares at the kitchen, suspecting Damsel would know.
“Well, he asked for it! He’s so charming, I really think you two should talk!”
“I’d rather wind up dead than in a conversation with Smitten. He’s a nasty pest.”
Damsel turns around to face Witch with her signature smile. “Well, maybe you’ll have a change of heart when you see him!”
“Eugh.” Witch rolls her eyes, and she gets back to her phone. She blocks Smitten’s number quickly before her phone explodes with ceaseless notifications.
A simple, quiet moment passes. Den trots around the living room, waiting for Damsel to finish breakfast, as Witch keeps herself busy on her phone.
After a symphony of cooking, cutting, and mixing, Damsel sets plates on the table. A perfect breakfast is arranged. Waffles with chocolate chips in them, eggs served in various ways, and many juice fruits are all served on fine dishware. Den gravitates towards the dining table now, waiting for the time to eat. When all of the plates are set, Damsel waits eagerly for the others to wake up and come downstairs as Den feasts on her portion and Witch glances at the table from the couch.
"I made a plate for you, Witch! Really, you should come join Den and I!" Damsel says. Against her better judgement, Witch lets herself be swayed by Damsel as she rises from the couch and scuttles over to the table. "The rest are gonna be down here soon, and when they are, I hope they'll all come join us!"
Fury enters the room, stairs creaking under her large presence, her heart beating in rhythm with the hooves clacking slowly against the floor. Damsel greets her with a smile as Fury joins the table, sitting on one of the larger chairs.
Next, Razor skitters down, her knife-arms gleaming with anticipation for a good meal. Damsel greets her just the same as Razor sits down and wastes no time digging into her food, skewering waffles with reckless abandon.
One plate sits uneaten. Spectre floats up, but only to join in on the sparse conversations over the food. Ghosts don’t tend to have a need to eat. Damsel looks to her side, worried about the empty seat. “Witch,” Damsel says, interrupting her small bite into a strawberry. “Can you bring Cage down here? Please? I want her to join us, too.”
Anything to get away from this table, and she’s already eaten breakfast. Den would be free to treat herself to her plate, too. “Sure,” she answers.
“Thanks!” Damsel gleams as Witch stands from the table and leaves.
Witch goes upstairs, crossing various doors until she comes across a certain one. She knocks on it a few times. “Cage,” she groans, “Cage, is your body up?” A pause. “Are you up? Is anyone awake in there?” She knocks a few more times.
The door muffles the sound of a small yawn. “I’m up,” Cage’s tired and wistful voice replies. “My body isn’t. What do you need?”
Witch brings her face closer to the door. “Damsel made breakfast. She sent me up here to bring you down.”
Cage sighs. “Come in.”
Witch turns the doorknob and pushes the door open. Cage’s body still lies in bed, draped in chains, as her caged head sits on the bedside table, looking towards the door in wait. Witch walks through the otherwise dark room and approaches the bedside table. She cautiously plucks the cage from the bedside table. “I guess she’ll still be happy to see you,” Witch sighs as she turns around and leaves. She glances at the headless, sleeping body again before closing the door. Cage doesn’t say anything as Witch quietly returns to the table.
She sets the cage behind the vacant plate with a metallic clattering as the head sitting inside it looks at the food through the metal bars, unable to eat it. She has no desire to, anyways. “Just give my food to Den. My body will cook something when we’re hungry.”
“Oh… Okay!” As much as Damsel would love to preserve her carefully-crafted meal for its intended recipient, she allows Fury to pass the plate along to Den, who accepts the gift gratefully.
A beat of silence passes by the table, scattered with the sounds of silverware clattering and Razor trying to scoop up impaled pineapple slices onto her not-so flexible blade. “Mmm! Thank you sooo much for this food, Damsel!” Razor’s grating voice interrupts the silence, bringing a smile to Damsel’s face.
“It’s nothing, really! I’m glad you enjoy it!” Damsel nods as breakfast continues. Den quickly wraps up her second plate and listens in on the conversations. Witch and Cage both seem equally disinterested in it, both of them spacing out, their eyes drifting coincidentally on each other’s eyes.
Eventually, Witch was pulled back to reality from a sudden comment from Spectre. "You hardly touched your waffles, Witch."
"Because I'm not hungry."
Spectre looks at her with a concerned look. "But breakfast is the most important meal of the day."
"What do you know about meals? You don't eat anything."
"Really?" Spectre's eyes widen. "I'm just looking out for you."
In an effort to separate herself from Spectre's valid point, she looks away, unfortunately meeting Damsel's hopeful gaze. She did cook this whole big meal herself, but, then again, Witch shouldn't feel obligated to stay here. "Well, you know what? Conversation's been fun, but I'll excuse myself from the table."
Damsel hides another quiet rejection. "Okay! That's fine!" Fury notices the small differences in her smile and looks down at her plate. She eats a few cantaloupe slices. She's not one for fruits, but, she feels bad.
As Witch walks away from the table, Cage's head looks up at her. Witch, sensing someone's eyes on her, turns around, looking back at the head. They share a few subtle changes in their body language, until Witch subtly nods her head towards the stairs. Cage nods, and Witch walks over and also takes the caged head upstairs with her.
Witch hears one more thing before she fully leaves--a comment from Fury. "It's okay, Damsel. You don't have to pretend."
The wind graces Smitten’s feathers as he looks down at his phone. With a sigh, he closes it, sets it down, and rises from the chair on the balcony. He takes a step towards the railing and welcomes the morning sun on his face. “She may push me away, but my valiance shall one day bring light to her righteous heart!” He announces to the backyard and the forest behind it. A well-aimed paper airplane crashes into his face, abruptly ending his dramatic moment. Distant snickers can be heard from the treehouse.
“Nice shot,” Hunted comments.
“I know,” Contrarian responds, “really showed him. Now, let’s see what else we can throw at him.”
Hunted picks up a large foam dart launcher.
“Oh-ho! Why didn’t you tell me you had that sooner?”
“We should be careful with it. Those darts are a lot harder to recover than you think.”
“Nonsense! Let’s go shoot ‘im!” Contrarian takes the launcher and loads it with a few darts.
Smitten picks up the paper airplane and unfolds it. “What message of great importance could they have for me?” he asks as he begins to read the paper, but it turns out to be blank. “Bah. Those fools merely mock my romanticism! I say, you will never win!” Smitten crumples up the paper and throws it off the balcony. His gesture was met with a foam dart to the forehead. Then one to the shoulder. Then a third one that missed, hitting the glass door with a weak thud, then falling to the floor. The distant laughter roared from the treehouse. “Well, they still won’t win!” Smitten picks the foam darts from where they fell. “Especially without these,” he remarks as he goes back inside.
Meanwhile, back in the treehouse, Contrarian sets down the foam dart launcher with a pleased look, his laughter dying down. “Haha… ah, that was good work. Nothin’ beats pissin’ off Smitten.”
Hunted looks at Contrarian with distress. “Do you know what you just did?”
“An amazing job?”
Hunted shakes his shoulders. “You fool! Those were all of my darts! We have to go get them back from Smitten! But how?!” He pulls away, holding a curled finger up to his lips and walking around. “We have to move,” Hunted decides as he leaves the treehouse. Contrarian looks at Hunted run contemplatively, then smirks as he also goes back to the house.