Dean Murphy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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moosestories2025-06-29 07:31 am
nyc_merlin) wrote in moosestories2025-06-29 07:31 am
Entry tags:
Angel AU: Death
13. Death - character death; a character goes through a painful transition
—
Auction houses range from grand old buildings to warehouses with a stage and folding chairs. It depends on who’s selling the angel and what sort of clientele they’re hoping to attract. This is the business type of crowd. These people want an angel that can do hard physical labor. It’s a warehouse with harsh lights on a single stage.
Clint is led out onto the stage by two handlers who have catch poles locked around his upper arms while his hands are bound in front of him. His wings were unbound for the auction. Buyers want to see them and see their strength. The catch poles allow the handlers a certain amount of control. If Clint acts out they can give him a solid shock to bring him back under control. He simply bows his head forward and allows himself to be led on stage.
“Our next specimen was most recently owned by the United States Military. He was sold off after his longtime handler retired,” the auctioneer reads from a prepared report on Clint.
“Male, appears to be roughly 40 in human years, with Accipitridae wings. Other work history includes farm labor, dock work, and entertainment work in a circus.”
Clint reaches center stage and his handlers push hard with the catch poles so he’s forced to his knees. He can’t see the audience but he can hear them as they shift in their seats and murmur to each other.
A third man comes onto the stage. Clint listens to his footsteps. He stands close by. Clint can just make out his leather loafers from the corner of his eye. He’s the handler Clint’s most interested in.
That handler carries a small box. He sets it onto a table and opens it. Inside is Clint’s binding ring which is proof the auction house owns him legally. The law says the binding ring must be present at the auction.
Some auction houses have the handler wear the ring as an extra safety measure but this particular house has it displayed in a box under a top down camera. It’s on screen behind him. Clint’s been through enough auctions to know.
“No reported injuries.”
Oh. The military lied. Clint’s ears are heavily damaged. The audience won’t see that with the lights though. And the worst of the damage was internal anyway. It’s healed but legally the auction house is supposed to report any and all injuries from his past owners.
They want good money for him if they’re keeping that secret.
A push from one of his handlers. “Spread ‘em.”
Clint glares at the felt covered wood of the stage and spreads his wings a little.
Another hard shove from both handlers. They want his wings at their full extension to show off their coloration and strength. The audience might be business men looking for practical workers but they’re still human. Humans can still get touchy about wing style.
Clint takes a deep breath then snaps his wings open violently. The handlers are taken by surprise and he feels it the moment their grip loosens on the catch poles. He shoves with his full strength to get to his feet with a powerful downbeat of his wings.
One handler is thrown off completely.
The audience gasps and a few chairs scrape across the floor as people get to their feet.
Clint twists and lunges to his right. The third handler is frozen in surprise which is exactly the reaction Clint was hoping for.
He has spent his three months in this auction house behaving perfectly. Docile. Calm. He says ‘yes, sir’ and ‘yes, ma’am’ to every handler who asks him to do things. Medical examinations. Transportations. Every humiliating and dehumanizing thing they did to him Clint endured for just this moment. Just so he could have the element of surprise.
This plan requires every second of time he can get.
Clint throws himself at the ring stand and topples the box to the floor. He and the third handler both scramble for it. Clint uses his wings to control the space even as he fights against the handler trying to yank him back and the second trying to get control of the other catch pole.
The electrical shock tightens his muscles and hurts. It hurts so much.
Clint cries out but the muzzle around his mouth keeps the sound from seriously hurting anyone. Even that hurts. The muzzles are designed to discourage angels from opening their mouths at all. Clint hates them.
He throws himself forward with all his strength and lands on top of his binding ring. He fumbles with it, trying to make sure it gets on his fingers. His wings flail to keep everyone back.
There’s shouting. A call for more handlers. More shock sticks. The second handler has grabbed the catch pole. He starts shocking Clint too. It hurts so much. He screams into his muzzle, loud enough to strain the carbon fiber against the power of his voice.
But Clint manages it. He gets the ring on his finger and suddenly his Grace is fully his again. The little bits and pieces bound into the ring slot back to his Grace and he feels whole again. It’s been centuries. He wants to weep.
He fights instead.
With his full Grace return Clint has his full strength. He breaks the shackles holding his hands together and grabs a catch pole. He pulls it out of the handler’s grip and rips it off his arm. Brandishing it as a weapon he beats at the second handler and the third and the fourth.
A shot rings out and pain explodes across his shoulder. Clint expects blood but there isn’t any. The handler that shot him is using heavy slugs to subdue him instead of hurt him. He’s still merchandise. He’s still money. They don’t want to damage the goods.
Clint will never be goods again.
He throws the broken catch pole, grabs the edges of his muzzle and pulls. It hurts coming off his face. The small barbs that line the edges of it had dug into his face each time he screamed. Human cruelty knows no bounds. He rips it from his face and it scratches along his cheeks. He feels the blood dripping down his face.
Clint throws his wings open wide, drops his head back, and screams as loud as he can.
Lightbulbs shatter. The electronics in the room fizzle and spark. Every human still left in the room grabs their ears and drops to their knees. There are no windows but the force of the scream shakes the walls of the warehouse like an earthquake.
His throat feels raw when he stops but it’s only the scream that stops. Clint keeps moving.
He leaps down from the stage and runs while everyone is still stunned. He slams through people and the front door onto the street. People outside murmur in surprise but Clint beats his wings and takes off.
He’s free. He’s free. He’s free.
There’s elation. There’s joy. Clint feels like crying.
There’s a sudden pain in his wing. He looks over his shoulder and there’s a handler at the door with a gun. They’re taking aim for a second shot. Clint flies faster and ducks between two buildings but he’ll need to rest his wing from that shot if he really wants to heal.
He looks into the distance and spots a church spire.
Good enough.
—
Auction houses range from grand old buildings to warehouses with a stage and folding chairs. It depends on who’s selling the angel and what sort of clientele they’re hoping to attract. This is the business type of crowd. These people want an angel that can do hard physical labor. It’s a warehouse with harsh lights on a single stage.
Clint is led out onto the stage by two handlers who have catch poles locked around his upper arms while his hands are bound in front of him. His wings were unbound for the auction. Buyers want to see them and see their strength. The catch poles allow the handlers a certain amount of control. If Clint acts out they can give him a solid shock to bring him back under control. He simply bows his head forward and allows himself to be led on stage.
“Our next specimen was most recently owned by the United States Military. He was sold off after his longtime handler retired,” the auctioneer reads from a prepared report on Clint.
“Male, appears to be roughly 40 in human years, with Accipitridae wings. Other work history includes farm labor, dock work, and entertainment work in a circus.”
Clint reaches center stage and his handlers push hard with the catch poles so he’s forced to his knees. He can’t see the audience but he can hear them as they shift in their seats and murmur to each other.
A third man comes onto the stage. Clint listens to his footsteps. He stands close by. Clint can just make out his leather loafers from the corner of his eye. He’s the handler Clint’s most interested in.
That handler carries a small box. He sets it onto a table and opens it. Inside is Clint’s binding ring which is proof the auction house owns him legally. The law says the binding ring must be present at the auction.
Some auction houses have the handler wear the ring as an extra safety measure but this particular house has it displayed in a box under a top down camera. It’s on screen behind him. Clint’s been through enough auctions to know.
“No reported injuries.”
Oh. The military lied. Clint’s ears are heavily damaged. The audience won’t see that with the lights though. And the worst of the damage was internal anyway. It’s healed but legally the auction house is supposed to report any and all injuries from his past owners.
They want good money for him if they’re keeping that secret.
A push from one of his handlers. “Spread ‘em.”
Clint glares at the felt covered wood of the stage and spreads his wings a little.
Another hard shove from both handlers. They want his wings at their full extension to show off their coloration and strength. The audience might be business men looking for practical workers but they’re still human. Humans can still get touchy about wing style.
Clint takes a deep breath then snaps his wings open violently. The handlers are taken by surprise and he feels it the moment their grip loosens on the catch poles. He shoves with his full strength to get to his feet with a powerful downbeat of his wings.
One handler is thrown off completely.
The audience gasps and a few chairs scrape across the floor as people get to their feet.
Clint twists and lunges to his right. The third handler is frozen in surprise which is exactly the reaction Clint was hoping for.
He has spent his three months in this auction house behaving perfectly. Docile. Calm. He says ‘yes, sir’ and ‘yes, ma’am’ to every handler who asks him to do things. Medical examinations. Transportations. Every humiliating and dehumanizing thing they did to him Clint endured for just this moment. Just so he could have the element of surprise.
This plan requires every second of time he can get.
Clint throws himself at the ring stand and topples the box to the floor. He and the third handler both scramble for it. Clint uses his wings to control the space even as he fights against the handler trying to yank him back and the second trying to get control of the other catch pole.
The electrical shock tightens his muscles and hurts. It hurts so much.
Clint cries out but the muzzle around his mouth keeps the sound from seriously hurting anyone. Even that hurts. The muzzles are designed to discourage angels from opening their mouths at all. Clint hates them.
He throws himself forward with all his strength and lands on top of his binding ring. He fumbles with it, trying to make sure it gets on his fingers. His wings flail to keep everyone back.
There’s shouting. A call for more handlers. More shock sticks. The second handler has grabbed the catch pole. He starts shocking Clint too. It hurts so much. He screams into his muzzle, loud enough to strain the carbon fiber against the power of his voice.
But Clint manages it. He gets the ring on his finger and suddenly his Grace is fully his again. The little bits and pieces bound into the ring slot back to his Grace and he feels whole again. It’s been centuries. He wants to weep.
He fights instead.
With his full Grace return Clint has his full strength. He breaks the shackles holding his hands together and grabs a catch pole. He pulls it out of the handler’s grip and rips it off his arm. Brandishing it as a weapon he beats at the second handler and the third and the fourth.
A shot rings out and pain explodes across his shoulder. Clint expects blood but there isn’t any. The handler that shot him is using heavy slugs to subdue him instead of hurt him. He’s still merchandise. He’s still money. They don’t want to damage the goods.
Clint will never be goods again.
He throws the broken catch pole, grabs the edges of his muzzle and pulls. It hurts coming off his face. The small barbs that line the edges of it had dug into his face each time he screamed. Human cruelty knows no bounds. He rips it from his face and it scratches along his cheeks. He feels the blood dripping down his face.
Clint throws his wings open wide, drops his head back, and screams as loud as he can.
Lightbulbs shatter. The electronics in the room fizzle and spark. Every human still left in the room grabs their ears and drops to their knees. There are no windows but the force of the scream shakes the walls of the warehouse like an earthquake.
His throat feels raw when he stops but it’s only the scream that stops. Clint keeps moving.
He leaps down from the stage and runs while everyone is still stunned. He slams through people and the front door onto the street. People outside murmur in surprise but Clint beats his wings and takes off.
He’s free. He’s free. He’s free.
There’s elation. There’s joy. Clint feels like crying.
There’s a sudden pain in his wing. He looks over his shoulder and there’s a handler at the door with a gun. They’re taking aim for a second shot. Clint flies faster and ducks between two buildings but he’ll need to rest his wing from that shot if he really wants to heal.
He looks into the distance and spots a church spire.
Good enough.