"But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage
can seldom see through his bars of rage
his wings are clipped, and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom."
. . .
It was well-past lunch break when William steps into the convenience store that was just within a walking distance, a few blocks from where they were currently staying at.
The brisk chill of the air-conditioner slaps his skin like a physical hit and if he was to choose between the air in here or from the outside, he couldn't really decide which is worse. He shivers again even as his cheeks feels sort of soothed from the biting autumn breeze and resists the urge to sneeze out loud.
William tugs at the neck of his hoodie in a useless attempt to hide his embarrassingly chattering teeth, sorely regretting the fact that he had not bothered with putting on a scarf at the very least.
Damn it, he does not want to catch a cold right now... but the beginnings of a pounding headache seems to have other ideas. A tell-tale sign. Ugh, lovely. His sister will never let him hear the end of it he suddenly gets sick or something.
Nodding at the cashier girl (who quickly looks away from him—seriously, what a weird girl), William grabs a basket on the way and heads off towards the aisle, resisting the urge to wipe at his sudden runny nose. Well, now he needs to get himself some tissues... without Winters finding them and asking questions. Fan-fucking-tastic.
...Well, fuck.
This is just great.
It is not as if he feels like shit already.
Seriously, hunting and tracking monsters are already stressful as is, he can't afford to feel under the weather because the sudden cold air and him aren't on good terms at the moment—especially right now.
Why can't he just get a break?
Sniffling almost miserably to himself, William grabs some well-deserved snacks off the shelves (because he and Alastor had burned through most of his stash the last time they binge-watched anime and Winters had eaten the last pack of Oreos no matter how much she lies and denies it to his face) and throws them carelessly into the basket.
...Wait.
Wait a minute.
He stops at a stack of junk foods, eyeing it critically. Which potato chips did Alastor want again? Sour cream or was it the barbecue-flavored...?
William internally tries to wrack his sleep-deprived brain to please kindly cooperate and remember, but his temples only pulse in the beginning of a headache, almost defiantly. Great, even his own head is going out of its way to rebel.
Wonderful.
He rubs his forehead.
At least, his sister's preferences were something he already knows by heart: Winters wasn't too keen around junk foods (and if she had her way, she'd make him eat the nasty, green stuff or if he's lucky, it'll be just fruits) but he knows she enjoys matcha-chip cookies or any dark chocolate flavored sweets...
