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revolutionfalconWHO: Shun and whoever is around to greet the firebirb
WHAT: A very late intro
WHEN: AT SOME POINT...we don't really have a calendar yet do we
WHERE: Entering Illumina
WARNINGS: None as yet, will edit if that changes.
[In the time he's had to deal with things like severe cold and exposure, Shun's never been particularly small. That and his coat meant he usually wasn't wanting for warmth, even on nights where the Resistance's supplies ran low and they were running out of places to hide. Unless he was lending it to Ruri, but then, he'd never had trouble enduring that either.
But sitting on a glacier with numb talons and numb wingtips, empty space between the Synchro Dimension and here and what the hell happened, he's realising what a disadvantage being small is here.]
What the hell--?
[He feels his mouth move, but it clicks like a beak, and when he sees himself in the glossy glacier he does a double-take before peering back into the ice, black and yellow eyes narrowed. He's a bird, certainly, and a bigger bird than any normal one in his world, but compared to his usual self he's miniscule. Even with his scarf wrapped around most of him, he can see himself tremoring slightly in the reflection, and he knows he has to find his way out of this cold or he'll die before he even gets to ask all the questions on his mind right now. Mind flipping between suspicion, confusion and trying to find what feels natural for this creature to move, he spreads his small wings - another two wing-like forms unfold beneath them, but even the most cursory glance at the thin, overfeathered joints would show they're not fit for flight themselves. They flail and shake as he tests them, just trying to get airborne to go towards that light in the distance, but his feet are numbing by the time he heaves himself into the sky and flaps towards the lights.
The chill is biting, though, and he finds himself stalling, fluttering downwards and having to recover far too often. The little body shakes again, like the feeling of something wanting to come up, but there's nothing in his lungs and nothing in his throat, and his wings don't seem to want to support him.
As he starts to dip again, the little bird's expression hardens, and the air almost seems to spark with its determination.]
It's not that easy to get rid of me.
[The bird's wings flare into heat and fire, melting a pit where he skims the ground and rises again, suddenly full of warmth and energy despite the situation he's been thrown into. Closer and closer to the city lights, the flame fades away but the new strength doesn't, and by the time he touches down neatly at the edge of the city, the cold tremors have faded like they were never there. He folds his wings with a lengthy, dismissive blink, gives the icy wastes one last look, and then hops through into the city proper.
He'll be approaching anyone who looks like a resident with a most sour look on his little birdly face.]
Explain what this is. Now.
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