To The Ends of the Earth [Dainty Prompt Nov. 2023]
[Story is not canon!]
After a mysterious battle, Angelo is ripped from the comforts of home and the arms of his most beloved, Rion. He wakes up in a strange world that seems to be lost to the annals of time, and wanders to a nearby village in hopes of finding answers... or a way home.
[🆁🅴🅱🅾🅾🆃🅸🅽🅶… 🅿🅻🅴🅰🆂🅴 🆆🅰🅸🆃…]
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[Unit: ÆN-G:3-L0. Reboot successful. Current Coordinates: ERROR.]
Angelo blinked twice, the intervals between both exact, calculated. His pupils focused, shrinking at the introduction to the unusually bright sunlight that illuminated unfamiliar surroundings. With care, he picked himself up from… was that grass? His brow furrowed as he allowed his processes to search his most recent memory banks, desperate for any sort of answer as to where he might be.
For several moments he was utterly still, endlessly searching.
Nothing.
It wasn’t often that Angelo expressed human-like emotions, but this was a special case; and one to be met with visible frustration. He couldn’t even begin to take in his current surroundings or access any sort of damage that might have been done to him; the only thing that was at the forefront of his mind was that his home - the lofty apartment that he’d woken up to, in the arms of his savior - was nowhere to be seen, much less located on this plane of existence.
“Rion…”
It was the sound of utter despair.
“Rion…!”
More desperate this time, and with it, the strength to push himself up, finding his footing and allowing his wings to stretch out behind him, his feathers crumpled and out-of-sorts. He took an uneasy step, and then another; there appeared to be a quiet town up ahead, and within its warm cottages, the hope that he might find his beloved artiste.
The moment Angelo stepped into the village, it had been a grave mistake. Most regarded him with fear; fleeing before him, falling to their knees in tears, whispering pleas and prayers to a god that Angelo was not familiar with. Though he meant them no harm, and certainly was not armed in the slightest, there was simply no manner to communicate that with the common folk. Dejected and desperate, Angelo allowed his hooves to guide him, keeping his head down and his wings tucked close in against his back.
“Monsieur!” cried a little voice behind him, seemingly just as desperate as he. “Monsieur, monsieur! Please, you dropped these!”
A tiny hand, with tiny fingers, curled gently around his prosthetic fingers, gently tugging at them to get Angelo’s attention. The dainty stopped, pulled from his daze, and turned to find a small child, tears welling in their eyes as they clutched a handful of white feathers to their chest.
“They’re all ruined, monsieur… it wasn’t my fault, I swear. My papa always said that if I were to find a feather, I should rescue it from the road - you never know when it belongs to an angel!” The little one wiped their tears away on their sleeve before holding the feathers out to Angelo, gesturing for him to take them. “Are you an angel, monsieur? Oh, you must be! With your big wings and your arm - is this made from mythril? This could feed me and my papa for---”
“Jean!”
The bark came from somewhere in the west, and from an elderly male; the child’s father, no doubt. Angelo glanced up, along with the boy, to the speaker - who stood with a white-knuckled grip on a gnarled cane. His other hand was outstretched towards the boy, worry creasing his brow; but the moment he met Angelo’s eyes, that worry seemed to soften, if only a little.
“A thousand apologies for the child, please- he does not know---”
Angelo shook his head.
“I am not the divinity that you believe me to be, that you hope me to be. While it is true I am not of this realm, I fear I am simply a lost soul, seeking mon cher.” He paused, exhaling a sigh he had no use for. “Please, should they bring you comfort, you may keep the feathers; they are of no use to me any longer.”
Jean’s expression faltered, his fingers curling around the feathers gently before bringing them close once more - a prized possession.
“I hope you find them,” The child offered, giving Angelo’s hand another gentle squeeze. “And I hope you find your way home soon. If you’d like,” He paused to glance back at his father, who gave a small nod; “I mean, if you’ve nowhere else to go, of course; you can stay the night with us tonight? It’s gonna be dark soon.” Another gentle tug, and a small smile to accompany it. “I promise I won’t try to pull your arm off and sell it!”
There was truth in the child’s words, and it was all Angelo could do to nod, and allow the little one to lead the way - with a quick glance cast towards the now-setting sun, Angelo made a silent promise that when he found Rion, he would do his best to describe the colors of this world to him; but there was a longing in his mechanical heart, wishing only for his beloved to see them in person, with him.