MHA #8, Thursday Morning

Faye was still a bird. Stark was still himself and still trying, and occasionally succeeding, to not be upset about that fact. But it had been nearly a week now and she was still a large bird rather than herself and that was distressing.

"We should go outside," he said. Of course he talked to her. He didn't get responses other than the occasional "frarnk" or flapping of wings but he had talked to her consistently since Boston. Talking to a bird was better than staring silently at a bird.

"I'll get coffee," he said, standing up from the couch where he'd been sulking sitting. "Or food. You could fish again, if you like. Or get into fights with a flamingo. Or...I don't know. Bird things." Bird things that hopefully didn't include flying away.


[For someone who will hopefully return to her usual leggy self soon!]