Work Text:
You wonder, can anyone tell that you’re walking oddly?
It’s a simple gait really, one you’ve practiced a hundred times to make up for the sway of your tail, the weight of your wings. As normal as you can make it look.
Still, it’s easy to slide into a slim space, calibrate the balance of each body port to the motion. You’ve done it before. You’ll do it again. Can of spray paint in hand and face mask pulled high to hide your face (and your lack of snout).
There’s a resonant echo in your bones and your body as you mark up the wall. Mostly from above. Roars of cars and stampedes of feet and an empty subway station. Closed for the night, too easy to sneak into.
Halfheartedly, you thank your instincts.
Hyper aware and hyper focused in on what you do. Listen for sounds. Relax a bit. Don’t slack.
Your wings unfurl through the fabric of your hoodie. Normally it’s a nauseating sensation. You’re half certain you’re just too relaxed too take note of it until you realize they’re not closed to your back. It’s nice.
You pause once, staring at your tag, “FLAYM” with a wyvern motif. Just like you. It’s stands out nice in bright colors with dark contrast.
Footsteps.
Shit.
Your wings shutter to you back.
You gotta run.