Killing Butterflies - Empires SMP

Fourteen - Agreement

Xornoth had been stuck on the chair for approximately three hours of complete and utter boredom and frustration when the door opened again.

They didn't bother looking around, instead gritting their teeth and slowly, slowly letting out a grating exhale. "What do you want."

It wasn't a question. It was a demand. An imperative. It wouldn't do anything, but they didn't care because they needed an outlet for their emotions so badly. Why did he feel the need to walk in, again and again, ignoring them when they clearly didn’t want him inside?

Maybe his stupid owls were bullying him. Maybe he had nothing to do. Maybe he was fucking lonely. But he definitely didn't care.

"Uh," Scott managed, the sounds of him manoeuvring the door shut (they assumed he was carrying something). "Foods?"

They hissed. "I don't want your fucking foods. I want you to fucking die."

"Well, that's nice." Something clunked onto the table, and they turned their head around to see a… breakfast tray (?) sat neatly on the table between the two chairs. Scott stood above it, displaying a face of mixed emotions, and two owls perched on his shoulders. "Because I brought you foods anyway."

"I just said I don't want it." They snapped, shoulders sagging downwards and a glare igniting in their eyes. They ignored the hunger that had been blossoming in their stomach for the past three hours, instead decorating themself with a sour look.

The owls stared at him, appearances rather odd. One had icy, pale feathers with small, blood-orange lines that criss crossed in scar-like motions, the other had sooty, charcoal like feathers with metallic grey eyes a lot deeper than they should be
Or maybe they weren't deep. They didn't know anything about owls.

"So, your grand escape plan is starvation, good to know." He nodded, collapsing onto the chair opposite them, somehow without disturbing the owls perched on him - they hooted in curiosity. "Not sure if that's a particularly creative escape plan, but-"

"Shut the fuck up."

Surprisingly, he did. And his silence was bliss.

Of course, it didn't last for long. He hadn't ever been good at keeping his mouth shut. "Why don't you like eating?"

They growled lowly, pressing their claws into the car too soft arms of the chair. "Why the hell do you want to know?"

His eyes trailed across them in a way that made them far too uncomfortable, and they felt their wings puff up despite the fact they were effectively useless. The urge to smash their wing against his face was the only thing that seemed to influence their brain, and they instinctively strained them against the bindings with as much force as they had.

"It's nothing." He settled on.

"Doesn't seem like nothing." They snapped. "I swear to the winters themselves, if this has anything to do with the bandages I'm going to kill you."

"It's not, okay?" He sighed, wings slumping behind him, and oh, if only they could feel them crack and splinter underneath their hands. "I just-"

"Just what?" Xornoth challenged, leaning forward and gripping the edge of their chair, clenching the fabric between their fingers so hard that they were fairly certain it would tear. "Just what, Scott?"

His eyes closed like he was silently praying for Aeor to bless him with the will to live. The charcoal owl nestled closer onto his shoulder. "I don't mean this in a hurtful way or anything, but you're… really thin."

They blinked. "...and?"

"I could literally count your ribs when I was changing your bandages." Scott gestured, a faint hint of concern peeking through his expression like he actually cared. Like he ever did.