She had had to give up her room to her raven, in case the bloody thing ate her. Don Juan had delighted in pretending not to recognise her, either, so she had been dropping worms in his bed for the past few days. When she managed to catch them.
Better to be outdoors, then, and stretch her wings. Porphyria had never truly considered putting in the work to become an animagus - seemed like a lot of show for nothing - but one errant comb had done it all for her in one fell swoop, and here she was, a talking wren.
She’d have been better pleased if it were a hawk or a falcon or some other bird of prey, and not the tiniest, daintiest, stupidest bird in the lot. Her tail pricked up to hear someone pacing through the grass, skirting a little too close to the house to not seem suspicious. Well, she might be a wren, but she could certainly be her own deterrent -
Porphyria hopped to the next branch along to get a better angle from which to give the trespasser a particularly nasty greeting... but, in the process of alighting and landing, she realised that the blond was a man she’d met once before - and hadn’t loathed on sight! Mr. Fisk, wasn’t he? As such, shitting on him perhaps wasn’t the grand idea she’d thought it would be. (It might take some explaining later.)
That sudden change of heart did not serve her well, practically, however, as Porphyria bungled the landing and her frail wren-feet (not talons by any blasted measure!) missed the branch. Instead, she lost her balance backwards and, unable to right herself in the midst of the fir tree, she went tumbling down, bouncing from bough to bough and hitting the ground with a soft, stupid flump. “Looking for something, are you?” She piped up to get his attention if that had not done it alone, grumbling in tone and quite mortified by that show of magnificence.
Better to be outdoors, then, and stretch her wings. Porphyria had never truly considered putting in the work to become an animagus - seemed like a lot of show for nothing - but one errant comb had done it all for her in one fell swoop, and here she was, a talking wren.
She’d have been better pleased if it were a hawk or a falcon or some other bird of prey, and not the tiniest, daintiest, stupidest bird in the lot. Her tail pricked up to hear someone pacing through the grass, skirting a little too close to the house to not seem suspicious. Well, she might be a wren, but she could certainly be her own deterrent -
Porphyria hopped to the next branch along to get a better angle from which to give the trespasser a particularly nasty greeting... but, in the process of alighting and landing, she realised that the blond was a man she’d met once before - and hadn’t loathed on sight! Mr. Fisk, wasn’t he? As such, shitting on him perhaps wasn’t the grand idea she’d thought it would be. (It might take some explaining later.)
That sudden change of heart did not serve her well, practically, however, as Porphyria bungled the landing and her frail wren-feet (not talons by any blasted measure!) missed the branch. Instead, she lost her balance backwards and, unable to right herself in the midst of the fir tree, she went tumbling down, bouncing from bough to bough and hitting the ground with a soft, stupid flump. “Looking for something, are you?” She piped up to get his attention if that had not done it alone, grumbling in tone and quite mortified by that show of magnificence.
a sublime set by Lady! <3