Yay?
I come bearing MO fic. It's one of the first ones ever written, if I am not mistaken. If my research sucks then I'm guessing it's in the first ten and if my research doesn't suck it's the second one. But anyway.
Title: Voyeur
Fandom: Moral Orel
Rating: PG-13-ish for undescribed violence? I don't know. Nothing too objectionable.
Type: Gen (Clay, Orel)
Warnings: Spoilers from "Nature", and hints from what's to come in later episodes. Implied violence. Also, un-beta'd, which it probably could have used. Eh.
Summary: I watched, as I always will.
Disclaimer: Nuh-uh, not mine. Go blame Dino Stamatopolous for these amazing characters and situations. I just mess with them. I am no way affiliated with him, [adult swim], Mike Lazzo, or any of the other all-powerful entities at Cartoon Network or Turner.
I watched him as he drove into our home, his beaming face glowing with excitement. He would be spending some quality time with his dad. This isn’t something most animals do. Most fathers are flighty, leaving after copulating with their mates and leaving her to take care of their young. My first spring out of the nest, I was too young to father a brood. I had not found my mate, either, so my inexperience was nearly moot anyway. On a whim, I decided to follow the boy.
Never had I seen a father and son of the human species attempt to spend some time alone in our woods. This was my inexperience, however, not the lack of eager fathers toting firearms with equally eager innocent sons in tow. I watched in fascination as the son refused to kill any of the animals with his advanced machine. Why could he not kill, even if it was to survive? His brutish, inebriated father made up for him quickly, however.
Night was to be soon upon us, the amber hues of the fading sun glistening against my bluish feathers. I preened myself in boredom as they sat and grunted at each other. Who knew that watching humans could be so tiresome?
Only, then, things started getting interesting. For once, instead of rolling over like a dog and seemingly obeying everything that his father would say, the son yelled something unhappily. The father was not amused at this outburst, but I was impressed. I never had the gall to disrespect my own father, although I wish I had a few times, after he had migrated without the rest of my brood.
Certainly, things would be interesting to watch now. I removed my beak from under my wing and watched with distant curiosity. The son was angry, frustrated, and afraid. I wondered silently how he could manage to deal with somebody so abusive over such a long period of time. Of course, humans perceive time in a different way than we do, as they live longer than we do, but twelve years of this abuse would be too long for me to take in either perception.
Every breath they took was intense. I flew down to a branch close to the son’s head. It started slowly, but surely, their tensions building like a fire. Amber faded to ochre faded to twilight, stars peering from the sky.
Night fell upon them. The rest of the woods was not even close, yet, but they were there, amongst themselves, in the darkness. They stared at each other, screamed at each other, sobbed at each other. They were so alone to each other that even their words didn’t truly translate. I lowered my head and watched over the boy. I wished I could have done something, but as a relatively peaceful bird, I was not going to attack his father, especially after his aggression had been proven.
Clouds parted in his eyes as I flew away. As the boy cracked, snapped under pressure, I was sure that there was nothing that I could do, nothing that he could do. What would be done would be done. I am a bird. As much as I wish I could be a savior to this child, I cannot be.
Evening fell in the forest. I heard gunshots and death and new life, the gurgle of the brook and the last breath of a dying tree. I waited and I heard the loss of something serene and young. Hours passed, days in my heart, and I finally heard the groan of the car that had dropped these two individuals in my fleeting life chug away.
Life returned again. The fawn of the deer that was slain was taken in by another, the dog was eaten by other animals of prey, the grass absorbed the dew from the nightfall. And still, something had changed irrevocably.
Over sky I flew, through the trees and over the power lines and the picket fences and the rooftops. Moralton is different than home, but somehow I am connected to it and cannot run away from it, now. Somehow, this child has made me realize something about myself, about my brood, about what I need to do.
Sitting on the branch outside his window, I listened to his mother’s calm voice tell him lies. All mothers do. He was slightly unconvinced, as all children should be, and he sighed dejectedly and ate the food that she had given him, that she would continue to give him until he had grown up enough that he could provide for himself.
The look in his eyes and the slowness of his chewing and the emptiness in his sigh fixed me to the spot, unable to flap my wings. His stillness stilled me, and for what seemed like an eternity, I watched, as I always will.
Title: Voyeur
Fandom: Moral Orel
Rating: PG-13-ish for undescribed violence? I don't know. Nothing too objectionable.
Type: Gen (Clay, Orel)
Warnings: Spoilers from "Nature", and hints from what's to come in later episodes. Implied violence. Also, un-beta'd, which it probably could have used. Eh.
Summary: I watched, as I always will.
Disclaimer: Nuh-uh, not mine. Go blame Dino Stamatopolous for these amazing characters and situations. I just mess with them. I am no way affiliated with him, [adult swim], Mike Lazzo, or any of the other all-powerful entities at Cartoon Network or Turner.
I watched him as he drove into our home, his beaming face glowing with excitement. He would be spending some quality time with his dad. This isn’t something most animals do. Most fathers are flighty, leaving after copulating with their mates and leaving her to take care of their young. My first spring out of the nest, I was too young to father a brood. I had not found my mate, either, so my inexperience was nearly moot anyway. On a whim, I decided to follow the boy.
Never had I seen a father and son of the human species attempt to spend some time alone in our woods. This was my inexperience, however, not the lack of eager fathers toting firearms with equally eager innocent sons in tow. I watched in fascination as the son refused to kill any of the animals with his advanced machine. Why could he not kill, even if it was to survive? His brutish, inebriated father made up for him quickly, however.
Night was to be soon upon us, the amber hues of the fading sun glistening against my bluish feathers. I preened myself in boredom as they sat and grunted at each other. Who knew that watching humans could be so tiresome?
Only, then, things started getting interesting. For once, instead of rolling over like a dog and seemingly obeying everything that his father would say, the son yelled something unhappily. The father was not amused at this outburst, but I was impressed. I never had the gall to disrespect my own father, although I wish I had a few times, after he had migrated without the rest of my brood.
Certainly, things would be interesting to watch now. I removed my beak from under my wing and watched with distant curiosity. The son was angry, frustrated, and afraid. I wondered silently how he could manage to deal with somebody so abusive over such a long period of time. Of course, humans perceive time in a different way than we do, as they live longer than we do, but twelve years of this abuse would be too long for me to take in either perception.
Every breath they took was intense. I flew down to a branch close to the son’s head. It started slowly, but surely, their tensions building like a fire. Amber faded to ochre faded to twilight, stars peering from the sky.
Night fell upon them. The rest of the woods was not even close, yet, but they were there, amongst themselves, in the darkness. They stared at each other, screamed at each other, sobbed at each other. They were so alone to each other that even their words didn’t truly translate. I lowered my head and watched over the boy. I wished I could have done something, but as a relatively peaceful bird, I was not going to attack his father, especially after his aggression had been proven.
Clouds parted in his eyes as I flew away. As the boy cracked, snapped under pressure, I was sure that there was nothing that I could do, nothing that he could do. What would be done would be done. I am a bird. As much as I wish I could be a savior to this child, I cannot be.
Evening fell in the forest. I heard gunshots and death and new life, the gurgle of the brook and the last breath of a dying tree. I waited and I heard the loss of something serene and young. Hours passed, days in my heart, and I finally heard the groan of the car that had dropped these two individuals in my fleeting life chug away.
Life returned again. The fawn of the deer that was slain was taken in by another, the dog was eaten by other animals of prey, the grass absorbed the dew from the nightfall. And still, something had changed irrevocably.
Over sky I flew, through the trees and over the power lines and the picket fences and the rooftops. Moralton is different than home, but somehow I am connected to it and cannot run away from it, now. Somehow, this child has made me realize something about myself, about my brood, about what I need to do.
Sitting on the branch outside his window, I listened to his mother’s calm voice tell him lies. All mothers do. He was slightly unconvinced, as all children should be, and he sighed dejectedly and ate the food that she had given him, that she would continue to give him until he had grown up enough that he could provide for himself.
The look in his eyes and the slowness of his chewing and the emptiness in his sigh fixed me to the spot, unable to flap my wings. His stillness stilled me, and for what seemed like an eternity, I watched, as I always will.