milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

dworkin,
petrie

(no subject)

Dworkin is at the base of a tree, listening to the sound of the wind whistling over his head. Feeling the texture of the grass beneath his fingers, and tasting the last few breaths of summer air.

"When I consider everything that grows," he mumbles to himself, and lets his eyes close. The hunch in his back is more pronounced, these days, and sitting is a relief for his twisted leg.

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There's a small winged dinosaur perched in the tree, peering down at him.

"Gracious Gods."

He has to twist painfully to see it, given his back, but does peer up.

The little creature swings down off the branch by his claws for a better look.

"Hello."

"What are you?"

Curtly.

"I am a flier! What are you?"

"Dworkin. Chaos and Patterns and old blood. You are not a flyer. Flying is what you do. Come down here?"

Petrie is a trusting little dinosaur, except for bigger dinos with sharp teeth, and so he flies down readily enough and lands somewhere near Dworkin's knee.

"Flesh and blood."

He extends gentle fingers, slowly, for Petrie to duck away from if he wants to, to brush his wing.

"At least."

Petrie does not duck away. He even holds still, obligingly.

"I am!" he says proudly. "What is a Dworkin?"

"Me."

He wiggles his fingers, then strokes the wing from tip to shoulder.

"I can fly."

"Are you a human-pilot, then?" he asks innocently.

"No."

He shakes his head.

"Just flying."

"But you do not have wings", Petrie points out helpfully.

"Yes I do."

...Obviously.

Petrie blinks, and starts to teeter around Dworkin looking for said wings.

He pulls them out of his pocket.

A little pair made out of construction paper, about an inch long each.

He stops and peers at them.

Now, Petrie doesn't have much of a grasp of aeronautics, but... "You can fly with those?"

"Yes."

They're blue and yellow, with magic-marker feathers drawn on.

"They are pretty", he decides, admiring them.

"I like them."

He tucks them back in the pocket of his nightshirt, so they'll be safe.

"Does Dworkin fly a lot?" the little pterosaur wants to know.

"Yes."

He laughs, and it sounds like something's tearing in his throat.

"All the time."

"Perhaps we could fly now!" he suggests, fluttering up excitedly.

"No. I have a cold."

Hah.

Petrie's wings droop, but he nods.

"All right."

"You can."

He can just watch.

"Then I will!" He brightens again suddenly, takes off, and soars.

Dworkin laughs, and lies back on the grass to watch him.

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