Crest of Gold (Pt. 4)
November 9th 2006 11:13
Then, not so long after this, he came across a dying Galah. It kicked and thrashed at his approach but was too weak to put up any kind of real fight. Danny killed it, figuring it was now put out of it’s misery, and he promptly set about plucking out all of it’s best feathers. He paid no regard to what danger any further uniqueness would put him in… life wasn’t worth living unless he could live with cockatoos again, and that meant making himself beautiful again, or at least not so revoltingly disfigured. He set out for his old roost and found Zach once more.
Zach couldn’t believe it! Danny had come back as an even bigger mess than before, and had been gone for a very long time. Danny explained and begged his friend to assist him once more. Zach was once again reluctant but saw the desperate gleam in Danny’s eye and finally gave in, pushing the pink and grey feathers into Danny’s mottled, scaly head. It was all Danny could do not to scream out in pain, and once Zach had finished he flew off, wanting to let the feathers settle in hermitage, away from jealous and mocking eyes.
The feathers took, his scalp healing around them once more, and he returned to the flock, triumphant. His reflection was beautiful once more, winking up at him from the water in assurance. He felt whole again. The other cockatoos laughed openly at him this time… they found him ridiculous-looking, and couldn’t contain themselves around his unbridled vanity and delusions of beauty. No man came for him this time, it was plainly obvious that he was just a mutilated common cockie. It didn’t take long for Danny’s new crest to fall out either. His sores had filled with pus and loosened around the Galah feathers, rejecting them. The other cockatoos stopped laughing. Danny was simply self-mutilated now, damaged goods, to be avoided. He began to find it hard to keep up with the flock. He let them leave him.
Danny was completely gone when he flew into a Rainbow Lorikeet’s nest and struck down a mother bird from behind, careful only to attack her face so as not to damage her wing feathers too much. He could use those. They’d make a splendid new crown of green and blue feathers, he could force them in on his own with a lot of effort by wedging them between rocks and pushing his head against their spiny ends. Danny would need more when they fell out… he found it easier to procure more crest feathers by attacking less-wild birds. He took to attacking semi-domesticated parrots that roosted near resorts, killing them while they ate from seed-bells in human backyards, even rattling bird cages when he was too desperate to think things through. This was when I found him, climbing over the outside of a birdcage in my aunt’s backyard, his head a red-raw mess of wounds and stray feathers from various birds. Stress had reduced the rest of him to a semi-plucked state, but Danny couldn’t see it. His eyes were glazed over, his long-gone reflection hidden somewhere in his dark disinterested pupils. He wasn’t afraid of me, he just kept at the cage, trying to twist the metal apart so he could get at the budgie inside. I had the local rangers come collect him.
I hear he died not long after. He had very few feathers left. That poor vain cockatoo.
Zach couldn’t believe it! Danny had come back as an even bigger mess than before, and had been gone for a very long time. Danny explained and begged his friend to assist him once more. Zach was once again reluctant but saw the desperate gleam in Danny’s eye and finally gave in, pushing the pink and grey feathers into Danny’s mottled, scaly head. It was all Danny could do not to scream out in pain, and once Zach had finished he flew off, wanting to let the feathers settle in hermitage, away from jealous and mocking eyes.
Danny was completely gone when he flew into a Rainbow Lorikeet’s nest and struck down a mother bird from behind, careful only to attack her face so as not to damage her wing feathers too much. He could use those. They’d make a splendid new crown of green and blue feathers, he could force them in on his own with a lot of effort by wedging them between rocks and pushing his head against their spiny ends. Danny would need more when they fell out… he found it easier to procure more crest feathers by attacking less-wild birds. He took to attacking semi-domesticated parrots that roosted near resorts, killing them while they ate from seed-bells in human backyards, even rattling bird cages when he was too desperate to think things through. This was when I found him, climbing over the outside of a birdcage in my aunt’s backyard, his head a red-raw mess of wounds and stray feathers from various birds. Stress had reduced the rest of him to a semi-plucked state, but Danny couldn’t see it. His eyes were glazed over, his long-gone reflection hidden somewhere in his dark disinterested pupils. He wasn’t afraid of me, he just kept at the cage, trying to twist the metal apart so he could get at the budgie inside. I had the local rangers come collect him.
I hear he died not long after. He had very few feathers left. That poor vain cockatoo.
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