The room was the quietest that it'd ever been, retreating into a shell of comfort that no clang and clatter of doubt could ruin with its touch. A splatter of something hit the window pane to his left and it willed the vulture to blink, shifting the focus of his gaze to the present. He registered the fact that he hadn't been thinking; that it had been some time since he did; that he just couldn't—couldn't seem to think.
There was a chasm in his thoughts, and he looked past the abyss to see that everyone else was looking back at him.
"Vaughn?"
Io had said his name; called it to gain his attention. The entire class had their eyes fixed on the vulture and he didn't know why. What was it that Faustes last said?
"Alekseyev," the professor approached his table, taking a closer look at the shifting of his gaze. There was a severe lack of color in his cheeks. "Fever?"
Vaughn hadn't been listening after all, and it was a rare sight to behold for the majority. He was more often than so the most attentive student in class, handwritten notes diligently written and revised twice every evening; assignments completed days before they were due.
"I'm fine. Sir."
Pattering. A flash of lightning cracked the sky apart, striking the heavy clouds alit before leaving with murmurs of thunder. It furthered the unease brewing in his chest; the weight of every responsibility beginning to grow on his shoulders—hard and heavy.
For the first time in quite a while, Vaughn felt the air around him slither around his neck.
"Alright." Come to my office after dinner. Faustes nodded for show, re-directing everyone's attention elsewhere so as to provide the vulture some space.
Inside, Vaughn was burning; groaning in fear and exhaustion because his state of mind had been so weak that someone else (admittedly, a stronger predator that was experienced in this particular aspect) could invade his Link.
Fragile.
Yes, that was exactly what he was.
___________________________
Io had not expected Dmitri to stop him in the middle of the hallway, let alone ask him a question pertaining to Vaughn Alekseyev.
"What's up with him?"
The falcon had a textbook in one hand and an odd-looking ball (were those octagonal shapes? Hexagonal?) under his other arm. Both items didn't go together very well.
"Well—" Io paused.
"Well what?"
He debated between pouring every detail of what he witnessed in the afternoon and keeping his mouth shut. Perhaps it was better for Vaughn to reveal what he wished to reveal, and to do it himself. After all, who was Io to decide for another human being?
"I don't think it's up to me to tell you," Io's shoulders fell. Surely, there had to be something he could do.
All this knowledge and yet he remained so powerless. It was, to the sparrow, ironic.
"Why don't you try asking him?"
Dmitri was not pleased. He looked as though someone had handed him soggy French fries at a fast food restaurant and him being a regular, felt severely insulted. His Avian flapped its wings violently; a result of shock.
"Asking him?" The falcon was having a hard time conceiving the suggestion. "Uh, have you seen the look on his face if I so much as enter his field of vision? No? Exactly. He doesn't even look at me."
Io didn't buy his reasoning off the bat. It seemed to him rather exaggerated (as Dmitri himself would often embody the very word) and slightly flawed—entering his field of vision would have, by definition, meant that Vaughn had indeed looked at him. Just, perhaps not seen him.
"Well if you don't ask him and Io's not going to tell you," Abigail appeared by his shoulder, folding her arms with a sigh. "You're never going to know whatever it is you want to know."
Her Avian, a bald eagle, screeched a laugh. It sounded very odd to Io, but he found that it was of a distinctly higher pitch than Victoria's. Her laugh, that is.
The sparrow felt a gentle bump against his side and turned to see that he was joined by Luka. Little did he know that the latter had caught wind of their conversation from afar (how terribly unfortunate it was to have such god-like hearing, heightened whenever it had something to do with a certain friend) and felt inclined to invite his very own presence.
Just in case Dmitri did not know where to draw the line.
"Listen," the falcon threw his hands up in defeat (yes, with the strange-looking ball and textbook), "all that's gonna happen is him getting suspicious of like, everything 'kay? Why don't you try Abby?"
"Don't call me that," Abigail shuddered in disgust. "It gives the impression that we're on good terms. And what makes you think Vaughn would confide in me?"
"In fact, none of us are on cutesy terms with the vulture," she went on with a shrug before stealing a glance at Io. "Except you."
Io blinked.
The whispering of the rain filled the silence, accompanied by the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance.
"I guess I could talk to him about it first," he paused to think. "Then if he's comfortable with it, I'll tell you guys what happened. Does that make sense?" He peered up at Luka specifically, because, well, Luka was always there to evaluate every peculiar statement he'd make.
"Awesome," Dmitri concluded without a moment's hesitation. He didn't even have to work a single brain cell! Brilliant.
"Since when were you so hung up about Vaughn anyway?" Abigail raised a brow at said falcon, searching for ulterior motives in his eyes. "You said he was creepy and weird."
All at once, clear, resolute eyes turned on Dmitri and the latter could not find the words he'd kept on his tongue.
"W-wait. No. Listen—Abby," he groaned. "That was last year! C'mon."
Io was staring at him and skies, were those eyes frightening. It was barely four in the afternoon, so how was it that he could already see the moon?
Io was shorter, smaller than him by several inches and yet for all intents and purposes, Dmitri felt as though he was being looked down upon from above.
"I swear, it's just a first impression. That was long ago, alright? And," he couldn't resist the unexplainable urge to explain himself. English is his native tongue. Or so Dmitri would like to clarify. "Okay, it's not like I care—I'm just! Just curious. Yeah."
By this point, even Luka was frowning at him and that was exactly how the falcon realized that the circumstances were particularly unfavourable.
"Curious?" Io repeated. "That's nice. Well, that means you care. Because if you didn't care in the first place, then you wouldn't be curious, would you?" He was evaluating Dmitri's every word and that itself was enough to unnerve the latter. How could anyone stand talking to this small thing of destruction?
"Er, I—"
"Even if Vaughn does agree, and I do get to tell everyone else what's going on, does that necessarily mean you know what's going on?" The boy went on with a tilt of his head.
"I mean, what do you know? Does the knowledge count when it's a secondary source? If you care about him and want a personal relationship with someone, then go talk to them personally! I wouldn't want to treated as a means to an end. If you don't bother putting in any effort to get to know someone you want to know more about, there's just no chance you'd actually achieve something more than the shallow thing you have at present, no?"
Io peered up at his friends with a look in his eyes as though they were having a casual conversation about the weather. It frightened Abigail and Dmitri immensely.
Luka on the other hand, felt quite the opposite.
"Okay hold up for a sec," the falcon shook his head to get his thoughts straight and functioning; since they happened to be asleep for the past seventeen years. "Slow the fuck down! And would you just stop talking like you're eighty? I don't get what the hell's going in your head and like, I just—I don't understand."
"...Oh."
_________________________
Vaughn was back to having nightmares.
He had three in the span of seven hours last night, and it'd only been less than a day since he talked to Cameron. Less than a day since he got to speak to the first friend he had ever made, again, and hear the very words that seemed to destroy him all the time; taking him apart piece by piece and leaving it all quite unfixed.
"S-sorry!" Squeaked a dove as she bumped into him at the end of the hallway. Vaughn made no effort to smile at the prey like he would usually do every other day. He was far too tired to lift a single muscle.
The vulture was well aware of the power that his friend seemed to have over his chest of emotions—kept locked and hidden away on ordinary occasions.
Logic was irrelevant whenever Cameron was concerned.
He cranked open his locker, carelessly dropping a stack of textbooks inside when he heard a startling squeak. He paused, taking a brief survey of his surroundings before lifting the stack of books to find—
A rubber duck.
There was a slip of paper snagged in between its beak which, squinting under the dim lighting of the corridor, read: take baths with ducks.
Vaughn was not impressed. He replaced it in his locker, wondering if someone had somehow misplaced it—wait. It was locked.
*
"You placed a rubber duck in his locker?" Shri had her head in her hands before Dmitri could come up with a legitimate response. "What's going inside your head? Flies I bet."
"Oh c'mon," groaned the poor falcon with little to no understanding of humanity. "At least say fluff."
Shri rolled her eyes. Most of everyone else had had enough of his nonsense, making the clever choice to leave the common room earlier on.
"Iolani said that we could do something to surprise him, no?"
"Yeah, but a rubber duck?"
The osprey frowned at his sheer lack of common sense, losing interest almost at once. "I'm not talking to you anymore."
Aside, Lucienne laughed. Dmitri hoped that it was only because the book she was reading happened to be funny; but the last he checked, Luci's reading was exceptionally narrow and mainly included political texts of zero narrative. He somehow managed to convince himself that political jokes must therefore exist.
"Okay—what's going on in here? Why is everyone up against me all of a sudden like it's a competition or something?"
*
Vaughn's vocabulary (or so he would like to think) was extremely vast. After all, there must be a reason for his silly inclination towards literary texts; his ability to understand every witty line written by Oscar Wilde and appreciate the intricate craft of Shakespeare but not his very own writer, who would beg to differ.
Vaughn's vocabulary did not consist of an antonym of the word 'raid'.
For his past three and a half years in Flight School, the vulture had had experiences ranging from scratched desks and soiled coats to dented lockers (left empty of his belongings!) and raided bags—but never before something beyond that particularly "vast" range.
Indeed, every incident had occurred to him as a surprise. An unwelcomed surprise, at that.
That said, he wasn't all too sure whether he could consider the scene before his eyes unwelcomed. He reasoned that perhaps there was no word in the dictionary that could describe what exactly went on in the tiny locker of his.
Alongside the rubber duck that remained in his locker for the entire afternoon, there was a pile of what he assumed were trinkets of some sort. They weren't.
Vaughn sifted through the stack, picking out a box of instant Indian curry, multiple hair ties with tiny plastic fruits attached to them, a stray packet of spicy instant ramen with Chinese words splayed across the front and another rubber duck that said 'I'm sorry if it offended you'.
Frightened, he shut the door of his locker and double checked the lock. It was locked.
Either his eyes were playing unhealthy tricks on his mind or the voice in the sky was in the mood for miracles to overhaul his entire fundamental beliefs—including his vocabulary.
Vaughn's vocabulary was extremely "vast".
*
"You're in heat, aren't you?" Jeremiah smirked, giving the falcon a once-over before returning to his written assignment. "No wonder Shri and Lucienne were laughing on their way to class."
Dmitri was in an outrage.
Shock, yes. But outrage first. "You! Yes but," every cell in his body was in denial, "say 'rut' will you? Heat's for—"
"Prey?" Jeremiah raised a brow, quite unconvinced.
It was hard for him to take Dmitri seriously when he was in heat. While others appeared ill and weary when left unattended to, the former felt mainly confused by the external world.
"Well, yeah."
"It's the same thing, man. Go get some sleep, or...your prey," the kite laid out bluntly.
There was nothing to hide, after all. While Prey could seek temporary escape by ingesting the hormones of a predator in the form of a pill, predators had no such option.
There remained only one way to sate.
"So?"
Jeremiah left it open, observing the expression on Dmitri's face. It didn't change very much.
"I don't know man," he frowned, pressing against his temples in attempt to get rid of the insistent migraine that was only beginning to drill. "Like, is that why you have so many prey?"
Jeremiah remained silent. Watching.
"Is that their entire purpose? To serve you?" Dmitri went on in a seemingly drunken stupor. "Or are you just imposing their purpose on them?"
The kite stared blankly, partly amused and partly...something else. "Have you been talking to Iolani?"
Dmitri sighed.
"Yes...fuck."
*
There was a knock on his door.
Vaughn was not inclined to answer it; mostly because he was starting to believe his day haunted by something beyond his conception of reality. Something was messing with his mind and he had not the ability to stop its invasion.
Knock. Knock.
"Go away," he hissed, pulling the covers up to his chin and feeling an uncanny chill in his feet. The door was approximately a good sixty-three steps away (including those he would take to descend the stairs) and although it was nice to have a luxurious dormitory that resembled a wealthy bachelor's apartment, Vaughn could not help but feel that it emphasized his loneliness. His lack of company.
His fear of the world.
The knocking had stopped for a good minute or two, and it was almost calming except for the fact that everything was silent and eerie and Vaughn was forced to retreat into the terrors of his mind—one that had a great tendency to overthink and imagine the worst; the darkest thoughts.
Shuffling. Downstairs.
Nox was now awake, alert at her nest that was high up and oversaw most of the living room.
What's that?
His Avian expressed that it was far too dark to see a thing, since his curtains were often shut and the rays of moonlight therefore cut.
A trifling.
Surely, it was a figment of his imagination. There couldn't possibly be someone else in his room when the door was locked. Jae-min would have come through the door—there was a reason for the existence of something called a spare key.
No matter how hard Vaughn tried to convince himself that there was nothing there, the very thought of an intruder had already nestled into the heart of his cage and, he figured, was there to stay unless proven wrong.
He groped in the dark for his pistol that was already a form of magic; one that did not abide by the laws of reality. In fact, Vaughn had no reason not to believe in an imaginary realm of phantoms and spirits when the latter already existed in his very weapon.
Pistol in hand, he descended the stairs step by ste—
"Hi."
"охуеть ебать копать—" Oh. He had said it aloud. "You...you fuck."
He was having a hard time resisting his urge to pull the trigger; fingers in a slight tremble. Heart in a mess.
Luka was standing at the bottom of the stairs, still as a corpse—only that dead bodies didn't necessarily stand, but. You get the point.
"Did you say something?" The corpse asked and Vaughn was this close to dropping his pistol and giving the eagle a double show of vulgar gestures.
"No," he snapped, lowering his gun. "I didn't. And what, may I ask, are you doing in my room at ten o'clock in the evening? Just, how did you get in?"
"I knocked and you didn't answer," Luka replied without changing his facial expression. Not that the vulture, nearly blind under dim lighting, could see. "So I checked if your window was open, and it was."
"Your insolence is excused, Sullivan, for you were obviously unaware of basic territorial guidelines," seethed the owner of the room, feeling his way to the light switch. It was a contradicting sight to witness.
Luka didn't seem very fazed by Vaughn's supposed insult. "..."
"The sight of you makes me ill already. What do you want?"
"Io is worried about you."
And there it was! The root of his unnecessary worries, summed up in a single word—no, a name!
"Ha, how depressingly envious of me you must be, then." The vulture closed his windows shut and drew towards the door. "You may show yourself out, Sullivan."
_______________________
The next day was not so unpleasant by Vaughn's standards. On a rather subjective scale, he would have rated it a decent three...out of ten—and that was fairly rare score considering the fact that everything was usually an objective two.
"Iolani Tori," the vulture cleared his throat as soon as he spotted the silly sparrow making his way towards his locker. No, he hadn't been waiting for him all morning. No, he wasn't all-too-aware of his locker number. No, no.
"Hi Vaughn!" Io peered up at him with curious eyes. He contemplated voicing the (pleasant) surprise of having the vulture speak to him on his own free will, but decided against it. "Have you had your breakfast?"
Vaughn took this with a frown. "No, I have not—how is this relevant? We have important things to discuss."
"Oh!" Was all Io could say, slightly taken aback. He had intended to pop by Pipa's room on his way to the west wing and offer some help with her wheelchair. "I...well, I wasn't aware that we had something to discuss. Is this an appointment of some sorts?"
"A-an appointment? No," frowned Vaughn, startled. "I do not recall us arranging any sort of appointment. I don't quite understand what you mean."
He took a brief pause before appearing to have come to some arbitrary conclusion; as though having formed a revolutionary connection between two and two.
"Unless you mean that arranging an appointment with someone else is the proper way of speaking to them? Ah. Is that how this works?"
Io blinked.
"Good question, Vaughn! I wouldn't know either," he ended up laughing.
The vulture cleared his throat, regaining his composure (as though he had one in the first place!) and returning to the subject at hand. "As I was saying, we have matters of importance to discuss."
He waited.
Io stared up at him.
"Is...is this not a good time?"
"Um..."
"Goodbye," Vaughn concluded shortly, not knowing what else he could say in such a context; he never did actually consider the probability of this anomaly occurring: Iolani not having the time to speak to him. Somewhere along the way, his calculations had clearly made a huge mistake.
Admittedly, his day had just narrowly dropped its way down to a one.
"I'm free at eight o'clock in the evening!" Io called from across the hallway, attracting the attention of everyone else in his proximity. Not good. "Are you?"
...perhaps it was back to a three.
*
Vaughn did not necessarily prefer to meet Io any time after the sun had set, particularly because Io's eyes would turn quite unnerving and it was just overall uncomfortable to look at. That, and his Socratic mind would double in strength and prove to be the most annoying thing on the island.
"Hello," he greeted stiffly, standing at the entrance of the prey's dormitories.
He found it fairly strange that Io had not been moved to the other side of the campus, but then again it was most likely his mother's decision that he stayed as such.
"You're early!"
"Well."
They left it at that, wandering in the direction of the predator's dormitories because Io claimed that he had to exchange his gloves for a smaller size. Vaughn briefly commented upon the cold weather and that was also it.
"You know Vaughn," Io decided to come clear with his doubts. "We aren't the best conversation partners whenever it comes to casual talk. Does that mean we're better off arguing?"
The vulture paused. "We argue a lot."
"And we do it pretty well," Io laughed. They came to a consensus. "So what is it that you wanted to discuss?"
Vaughn figured that there wasn't really a point in beating about the bush or flying around in circles to test the waters before diving in. Io was not the kind of human that he was used to speaking to. Vaughn was surrounded by masks and plays, acts and stages; he was apt at handling the players of the game but never someone beyond.
"Strange things have been happening," he established first, then proceeded to voice his speculation. "You are behind it."
At first, Io found it rather difficult not to laugh.
"What a jump!"
"Well it must be you," the vulture looked away. "It's always about you."
It was a good direction; one which Io would have liked to encourage.
"And why do you think so?"
"Because you're the protagonist."
He stared at him in return, a tired simplicity in his words.
It was all becoming very apparent to Vaughn that he did not belong in this world—that he and Iolani were two very different people, destined to be apart. He thought the latter claim a little romanticized for destiny was a silly little belief.
"Am I?"
He stopped there, turning to face the other with those eyes of his that seemed to look from above.
"Are the strange things happening because of me?" He asked. "Or you?"
Not again. Io was doing it again; maybe not again, but always.
He'd always be like this.
"Of course it's you," the vulture said with finality. "There is no reason for me to receive things that—that are...nice and appear as though they are well-intentioned gifts."
He found himself referring directly to what he had termed 'strange'. The rubber ducks. Snacks that were to his liking. Anything at all.
"And why would I have anything to do with you receiving well-intentioned gifts?" Io could feel a wave coming along—one that would wash over his cage and draw back into the sea.
His smile was lunar.
"Must you always be so difficult?" Vaughn sighed, having expected this; seen it coming from afar. He sought an answer nevertheless. "If you insist, I admit to never having received much care or concern regarding myself from anyone at all."
"Well, there have been some people," he corrected himself as soon as a certain condor came to mind. "I just don't know if it was true."
Almost at once, Io sought an argument. He picked a fight.
"Are you in the position to say that you've never received much care or concern from anyone else at all?" He said, almost as a challenge. They had stopped walking somewhere along the way. "Does the notion of care only have to do with the receiver? If someone had intended for it to be care or concern but you ended up perceiving it as something less, then is that still care?"
Vaughn was stunned.
It wasn't as though he'd expected the other to actually comply and listen blindly to his story; putting aside their differences as he did so.
They were different.
And Io was the very first to acknowledge that
it was not something to be swept aside.
"I think your mother cares about you."
"I also think that the owl you were talking to by the stairs two days ago cares." Vaughn felt as though the bars of his cage were being taken apart by something from above. Io had seen everything. "Because if he didn't, he wouldn't have been so disturbed by your lies or who you are."
"It's definitely not the best form of care whereby both the giver and the receiver acknowledge its presence but does that necessarily negate its meaning?"
Vaughn was silent for a good moment, before he fell into step beside the moon phoenix.
"I admit that it does not. But," he brought this into context and could not stifle the urge to prove the other wrong; the need for conflict. "You may say this only because you have not experienced the amount of hatred that people have towards me."
Io nodded.
"You're right. I haven't. Apart from your mother's, headmaster Kirill's, everyone from the Order, some from the council, most predators, some prey who think I have betrayed them," he ticked them off his fingers before there were none left to count. "Oh yes, and you of course. Apart from that, yeah, I haven't had that much of hatred directed at me."
The moon phoenix was genuine in a sense that he truly found the emotion a prize. Something as worthy as Love, as treasured as happiness. Hatred was important.
"Oh I detest your very existence."
"There you have it," Io laughed quietly and for some reason, Vaughn didn't seem to mind the sound.
They arrived at the predator's dormitories and headed in without hesitation. The building had remained well-lit despite the late hour, but there was not a sound from the common room beside the main lobby.
It was quaint and lovely in the night, and as they passed the floor guide towards the tailor's room, Vaughn slowed to an unnatural stop.
"What's wrong?" Io followed his gaze. "Oh, you've noticed the lack of a fifth floor."
"It's..." the vulture appeared fairly pained for some reason, unable to force the words out of his lips. "It's not lacking. It's there."
"I can show you."
___________________________
A/N: Many many many things to address in this chapter :> Much symbols, much imagery, much motif, much dramatic irony. I'm trying my best to keep up with schoolwork and keeping this book afloat (easing into the final bit (?)) and so far so good! (EXCEPT THAT I HAVE 3 PAPERS DUE NEXT WEEK???? OH SKIES)
Meanwhile, can you guess who gave what? :D
Vaughn sifted through the stack, picking out a box of instant Indian curry, multiple hair ties with tiny plastic fruits attached to them, a stray packet of spicy instant ramen with Chinese words splayed across the front and another rubber duck that said 'I'm sorry if it offended you'.
-Cuppiecake.