The Bird and the Bleeds

[Bird]

Somewhere during Bleeds Well’s day, he’s approached by a furtive looking kid. Maybe he’s working a construction job, or grabbing a drink in a corner store. Maybe he’s just walking the pack’s territory. In any event, the kid approaches him with no small amount of trepidation. He looks and smells like the street, like he needs an actual bed to sleep in and a nice, long shower.

Clearly trying, and failing, to be brave, the kid hands Bleeds a folded piece of paper and says, simply, “Mr. Bird asked me to give this to you.” Then, he’s gone; turning on his heel and taking off at top speed, quickly disappearing around a corner, or into an alley. Lost in the streets.

The paper, once unfolded, contains only the following message in messy block letters:

511 Alisal Lane, Eggplant Alley side. [Date and time.] -B.

When Bleeds Well arrives at the specified location, it’s early evening and the day is pleasantly cooling. The house he finds is obviously vacant, painted a fading yellow and set far back from the street. No lights are burning. Some windows are boarded up, a few are exposed, but broken. The dilapidated structure is fast becoming a vague outline of itself in the gloaming.

There’s a gate onto the alley, slightly ajar, and an overgrown yard within. Several trees grow along the fence, partially obscuring the house itself.

Standing in front of this little plot, quickly going to seed, Bleeds Well will see what might be a man-shape, possibly seated, under one of the trees in the yard. If he’s unsure, all doubt is dispelled when Fa-ninna softly whistles. It sounds like a bird singing its last song of the evening, but the Rahu knows better.

This is the place.

[Bleeds Well]

Bleeds Well wasn't hard to find, he was where he usually is when not patrolling or minding the pack and territory, or fishing or hunting. Sweat dripping as he worked his forge, beating steel into shape, forcing his will upon the unyielding.

He looks the kid over as he appears in his doorway. Take cajones for a kid to approach a man with as much monster in him as BW. The boy isn't allowed to leave before having some fresh fish and water forced into him. Mind your territory in all things. When a monster tells you to sit down and eat, you sit down and eat.

Bleeds Well doesn't move fast to meet Bird, he has priorities and the Omega can wait. The furnace must cool, tools cleaned, oiled, and put away. He pauses at his door, fingers playing over a massive sledgehammer, but the weapon tool is left behind.

Black jeans, black boots, black shirt, he blends in on every street corner in California. He eyes the yard, the door, the tree, and chuckles, he'd stayed in this spot off and on for a long time, before building his workspace behind Emily's garage. He doesn't speak in response to Bird's whistle, instead he walks over to a couple of cinderblocks pressed up agains the fence. He raises one and flips it over so Bird can see the graffiti scratched onto it, Bleeds Well's Bleeding Talon mark. He grabs another and flips it, Hector's mark, he grabs a third and flips it, the mark of Clarion's Call.

[Bird]

Bird doesn't move from his spot under the tree. Just sits and watches as Bleeds reveals his mark, then Hector's, and finally that of their pack.

When the demonstration is over, it's Bird's turn to chuckle. It's a dry, rasping laugh, deep in the Irraka's throat. He lights a menthol and, for a moment, his face is illuminated in the gloom.

"It's a place, huh?" is his reply to the Rahu's silent revelation. It's unclear whether the New Moon was aware of the pack's previous use of this lot. Bird's not one to tip his hand.

"So, you gonna come have a time with me? I got a seat for you. And some drink." Fa-ninna doesn't elaborate further. Lets the invitation hang in the evening air.

[Bleeds Well]

Bleeds Well picks up two blocks, the one with his mark and another blank one. Carrying them over he drops one by Bird and set the underneath him as he sits down on.

He grunts in response. Bird hasn't spoken much, so he doesn't dare interrupt the quiet watcher and break the spell if the pup is going to tell his tale.

[Bird]

Upon sitting, Bleeds finds that he's been given an aging folding chair. Something you might see at the beach. It's on its last leg, but it holds his weight. They're positioned such that the moon, as it rises, is visible above the adjacent rooftops.

Bird doesn't pick up the brick brought over by Bleeds Well, though he gets the Rahu's meaning and appreciates the gesture. He'll add his mark later.

Instead, he hefts a bottle of hooch and takes a swig. The liquid sings against the glass. It's rot-gut whiskey, but Bird likes the burn. He offers the bottle to Bleeds.

"So the boy found you alright?" he asks, taking a drag off his cigarette and exhaling a cloud of smoke.

[Bleeds Well]

The chair squeals in protest under Bleed's Well's weight, creaking with each movement the wiry Rahu makes. He takes the offered hooch and swallows a token hit, letting the burn fill his belly. He's never held the same proclivity to drink as much other members of the pack, a fine scotch with Tiny, because that's how Tiny does business, an occasional beer with Emily, because that's her water; and now hooch with Bird. Bleeds Well drinks out of hospitality and respect, not a want or desire. He passes the bottle back.

"'I'm not a hard one to find," until he doesn't want to be found.

[Bird]

"That's good..." Bird replies. It's unclear whether he's referring to the boy or to the way Bleeds pulls off the bottle. He takes the whiskey and sets it down between them without taking another sip himself. Leans back in his chair with the cigarette between his lips. The burning coal floats in the near-darkness.

"Boy like that, he's green. These streets, they'll chew him up. Least he's got some balls, walking up to you. That's good." The Irraka sounds very much like he's evaluating a prospect. But for what?

"Asked you out here 'cause I figured we should talk a little. Get familiar. We're on either side of Her," a nod to the just-risen Moon. "We push and pull, yeah?" And if things don't get set right, there could be trouble down the road. Bird assumes that Bleeds will understand, doesn't say anything else out loud. Not yet.

He's quiet for a long time. It's spring, and the crickets know it. They sing.

Finally: "I was a lot like that boy, once. Green. Didn't know ass from elbow. Scared. Alone. You ever lived like that?" It's hard to imagine the Rahu as a pup, let along a frightened kid. But Bird asks anyway.

[Bleeds Well]

Bleeds Well leans down, picking up a small stick, the chair cries with the movement joining the cicadas in their song. He picks at the stick, pulling off small pieces of bark with his fingernails and tossing them at some imaginary target on the ground.

Two fingers absent-mindedly brush his lips and wave towards the rising moon. Luna is getting closer to him, like a distant lover returning for a visit, she'll embrace him soon. His blood simmers in the heat of her light and the stirring beast within reeks of power.

"Same but different. I knew I blooded before my spirit was born. Then Grandfather took me away and baptized me in blood and pain. That's when I was scared a green, but not alone then. Alone came later, by then I'd learned enough to be cautious instead of afraid. A privilege of my upbringing in the Dakota wilds. Did you know you were blooded?"

[Bird]

Bird watches Bleeds as he picks up the stick. Studying him, as always. He follows the Rahu's gesture toward the fattening moon. Their Mother. Even if her light shines too bright for his eyes most nights, Bird's got nothing but love for her.

The Rahu's story is absorbed, stored away, the words marking themselves indelibly in Fa-ninna's comprehensive memory.

"Naw," he replies. "Didn't know." He picks up the bottle and takes another pull. Sets it back down between them. If Bleeds wants, he can grab it himself.

"Knew I was different. Always knew that. Mama was creole. Haitian blood. Said I was touched. Touched by the Mysterious Dead or some shit." He snorts out a clipped laugh. "Never put much stock in it. Mama was always talking."

A drag off his cigarette. "Daddy died before her and then she went after him. I was seventeen and on the streets, you know? Green and scared like I said. Stayed that way for...I don't know, seven years? Then I wasn't alone anymore..." He trails off, knowing that Bleeds will catch his drift. "And I wasn't so scared. 'Cause I knew." The Truth. About himself and the world.

"Dakota, huh?" Bird's never been up that way. Too damn cold. "What got you down here? Aside from the weather." He's trying his best, to be open, to communicate, to learn something about his pack mate and offer information in return. It does not come easily.

[Bleeds Well]

He grunts occasionally as he listens. He knows the story, it's a common one, only the accents change.

His eyes unfocus, remembering, "Father called." He shrugs and looks over to Bird, flicking some bark at the bird, the unspoken you?