I consider myself to be a prestigious helper, a volunteer dedicated more to practical assistance than to petty entertainment, as many other Siblings tend to strive towards. Why should I degrade myself to perform mindless tricks when I can apply my skills to tasks like fetching objects or giving helpful critiques?
Working the 'night shift' for my beloved Purple Mistress has always been a varied experience. Some nights I feel enriched and revitalized, while other nights...
"Owlowicious?"
My head swivels around to face my Mistress' bright lavender form, and I blink to dispel the wandering thoughts from my head. Working for such long hours on a daily basis tends to muddle the brain after a while, especially when one is forced to think under such a dimly lit environment. Candles scatter the room, their flaming wicks licking against the oaken walls, coupled with the occasional spark of burgundy magic from my Mistress' horn.
"Yes, Miss?" I inquire, clicking my beak politely. Of course I know that she can't understand my tongue, but I find that playing along with her own one sided conversations can be rather enjoyable. It alleviates boredom, for both me and for her.
Without bothering to turn towards me from her workbench, she gestures over to the kitchen with a hoof. "Would you mind getting me a snack? Nothing special, just whatever you can get to," she murmurs softly, as if she's frightened to break the gentle, candlelit atmosphere that she has conjured up for the night.
I'm not offended by the task that she's set for me. If anything I feel my feathered chest puffing up with pride that she'd consider my night vision as a useful tool. It's certainly handy for any sort of mundane quest in the wee hours of the night.
"Just give me a minute, Miss." I bob my head towards her and I gently lift myself from my tall perch, my talons clasping within themselves as I flutter about the library's main hall.
With as much care as I can muster, I glide towards the kitchen doorway, past all the cleanly dusted books and littered scrolls. As I fly, I can hear the distinct rumble of the Little Lord Lavender's snoring. It's gotten slightly more gruff as of late. I have no doubt that he's soon going to be promoted into Masterhood.
My Mistress' kitchen is a modest little alcove, fit only for one equine at any time. It's shaped like a little corridor, with countertops lining both respective sides and an out of place ivory tinted box lodged in the corner. My only source of illumination is the open window positioned above a hollow dip in the counter, with the bright little stars bleeding through the billowing azure curtains.
I land upon the curve of a metallic handle that rests upon the shiny hole, my talons clinking sharply against it as my wings stay outstretched, perfecting my balance. It's a clumsy job, though I can at least be thankful that I can move about in relative privacy whilst my Mistress works. Even from my vast distance I can still hear her low murmur against the droning tone of her working magic.
"It is with great pride, Princess, that I record to you my observations on the social mechanics of bestial interactions..."
It all sounds like utter nonsense to me, and it doesn't take any great effort to blot out her voice in favor of the cacophony from outside.
My head rotates around, drinking in whatever might be of use for me to snag. There's a half-opened box of kernels lying on the counter, with a few bits strung along the floor. I believe my Mistress refers to it as 'cereal', though I've found through some experimentation that it's made of grains, and certainly of no use for me.
I debate on whether or not I want to keep my cuisine preparations simplistic. After all, I have been reprimanded on numerous occasions for making a mess, but I've always cleaned after myself in the end.
After some consideration, I opt for making my Mistress a bowl of 'cereal'. With a small beat of my wings, I move to the peculiar cooling box seated at the corner of the room and clasp my talons about the handle of its door to pull.
I've learned a lot since my adoption, and the most valuable lesson that I've ever learned, health wise, is that one needs to close their eyes before opening the cooling box. It's a strange contraption, and imagine my surprise to find that it can carry its own source of light!
Some Siblings that live with their own cooling box might find the practice of keeping a internal light blasphemous to Celestia's own sun, but I find the cooling box to be a marvelous addition to any hollow stone. It’s merely a tool for keeping perishables fresh, after all. It's certainly not a tool that has an capabilities for warfare.
My eyes are closed tightly as the door swings open, and it takes me a moment to open them. Impatiently, I blindly thrust out a talon to grab for the container of milk, cursing under my breath as my claws meet only air.
Finally, the bare end of my talon manages to wrap about a cold handle, its surface slick with condensation. I can't help but feel a good bit of pride as I drag it out and push the door closed with my feathered back.
The jug of milk in my talons is cumbersome at best, not to mention incredibly awkward to carry for any real extended period of time. Panting lightly, I set the container onto the nearest counter top and flop down next to it, my wings falling limp against the smooth surface.
"As you may know, Princess, I've recently been making notes during some of the play dates that I have with my friends and their respective pets. As you might also know between the six of us we have a wide variety of species..."
My Mistress is still murmuring rubbish to herself, on and on as I hear the end of her quill scratch against the thick parchment that I had fetched for her not one hour ago. Her voice is slightly hypnotic, like a dull lullaby that I could just fall asleep to if it were daytime.
I try to resist the urge to nap in the middle of my task, and it takes a good bit of effort for me to scramble up to my talons, my feathers ruffling slightly to straighten themselves.
Getting the milk had been the easy part in comparison to the rest that was to come. I can't help but wince at the thought of pouring liquid, gathering kernels and, worst of all, transporting it all to my Mistress' desk without spilling the contents.
"Blast it all!" I mutter harshly, my wings folding to my sides as I begin to pace up and down the countertop. My downy chest feathers are all puffed up, like a foamy wave fluctuating at my every irritated breath as I march back and forth.
Birds are creatures both cursed and blessed. We have wings, yes, but at the sacrifice of losing a pair of perfectly usable forelegs. We can only grip by our toes, and even then mobility is limited. How can a Mistress possibly expect her avian companion to do the impossible?
Against the endless rambling of my Mistress, I suddenly hear a new, foreign clatter against my sharp ears. It’s a distinct rustling from the outside, coupled with a loud, rhythmic thumping of paws against densely packed soil.
It's a familiar sound, and I find myself looking towards the open window in curiosity. My ears tend to pick out seemingly meaningless noises such as this, mainly for hunting. Listening in always provides a bit of a distraction for me, even if I'm not interested in feeding.
The rustling grows louder, amplifying as its source grows closer and closer to the window. I hear a dull, raspy grunt, one that has always been fairly familiar to me.
"Brother Angel?" I call out, softly. "Is that you out there?"
Movement stops, and I click my beak in amusement. "It is you, isn't it? Come on, you know you can't hide from me."
Silence reigns, and it isn't long before I hear a tired sigh.
"Aye, it's me. Ya wanna help me up or what?"
I flutter over to the window and lean over the edge to take a look. Standing below is none other than Brother Angel himself, his furry forelegs impatiently crossed as he stares back up at me. His beady black eyes practically gleam against the starry night sky, reflecting against his snowy white fur in a most favorable fashion.
He's wearing a strange halter about his torso, with a little case resting tightly upon his back.
Blinking, I casually raise a foot in greeting. "It's not often that I see you in my work hours, Brother," I remark.
"T'ain't often I hear ya cursin' up a storm, either," he blandly retorts, ever scowling with that devious little smirk of his. "Ya gonna help me up or not?"
Any other Sibling probably would have thrown him out for such a rude statement, but unfortunately, Brother Angel never really has anything 'nice' to say. He's always been a bit of a high-strung individual, though I suppose that anyone could simply attribute his brash behavior to his rabbit origins.
Without a word, I hop down from my perch to gently grab Brother Angel in one of my talons, my claws ever careful as to not dirty his groomed pelt. It's a procedure that I've done for him many a time before.
It only takes a few seconds to fly back into the kitchen and set him on the counter. As soon as his elongated paws touch the surface, he reaches his forelegs about to dust himself off, his ears lowering in perpetual annoyance.
"Thanks," he mumbles, eyes squinting as he cautiously taps his paw against the flat countertop. "What's this supposed to be, anyway?"
"It's a 'countertop'." I land right next to him and bunch myself up, my beak sinking into the feathers on my chest. "Masters and Mistresses use it for food preparation and the like."
He bends forward to sniff it, though my explanation doesn't seem to ease his suspicion. "Might as well call it a rock, y'know," he mutters. "A big, flat rock."
"Well, whatever you want to call it." I wave a wing to move the subject along. "Either way, what brings you here?"
The rabbit rears himself back to his feet and wordlessly unhooks the satchel from his back. "Me? Eh, I have a few errands to run while I'm on break here, so I thought I'd waltz on over." He places the little bag in front of him and looks up at me with a cocky grin. "Check this out..."
With a bit of an over dramatic flourish, he reaches his paws down to open the bag, displaying a fine little pile of freshly chopped greens. I lean over to examine them, and a rich, pungent odor seeps into my nostrils. The effect is so sudden that I have to resist the urge to gag.
"What is that?" I choke, placing a few discreet feathers to my beak. "It smells absolutely revolting!"
"Like ya don't know." Brother Angel rolls his eyes and quickly clasps the bag shut. "What? Ol' Brother Owlow doesn't know what somethin' is fer once?" He grins and places a paw against his whiskers, preening them in a most pretentious manner. "It's catnip, yeah? I got it fer... well... y'know..."
Even in the dim light, the obscure blush on Brother Angel's fuzzy cheeks is not hard to miss. It's almost adorable to watch him act in such a bashful manner, and for once I'm thankful that I don't have lips to smile so knowingly at him.
"Sister Opalescence, eh?" I risk chuckling, though I'm soon hushed by his sharp glare. "Have you bothered trying to admit your feelings for her yet, Brother?"
At this, Brother Angel seems to slump, his little paws darting about himself in an almost obsessive manner. "Nuh, not yet. Maybe not ever." He kicks his foot in a childish gesture, his eyes locked to the ground. "I mean, who wants to court a Nameless Guardian, after all?"
"I can think of a few does who might fancy you, certainly, if only for that reason," I chime in, doing my very best to be supportive. It's a trait that I've been nursing for a while now, if only to try and improve myself. "You do realize how admired you really are, don't you, Brother?"
"Admired fer what?" Brother Angel spits, his brow furrowed in annoyance. "The fact that I gotta take care of a bunch of misfits? It makes me look like a workaholic, and not a good one, either."
I rarely get angry, but I feel my blood boil all the same. "I was once one of those 'misfits', Brother," I mutter in a warning tone, my feathers straightening in anger. "And if you recall, my Hatch mate remains in your Mistress' brood as well."
Immediately Brother Angel winces and recoils back, his paws raising up in defense. "Alright! Alright! Sorry... Sorry," he urges hastily. "That wasn't right to say, I know," he admits reluctantly.
"Quite right, especially so soon after that 'incident' with The Blue Mistress," I add in, nodding gravely.
"That was months ago!" Brother Angel exclaims.
"Even so, as happy as I am for Brother Tank, you and I both know that contest should have never come about," I murmur, turning my back to the little rabbit.
We both seem to feel that the conversation has soured, much to my own dismay, but thinking of a subject change is easy enough after a rather uncomfortable pause.
"Brother Angel." I turn back to him, keeping my voice low as to not disturb the attention of my ever mumbling Mistress. "Regardless of our views, you should know more than I just how important your job really is." I click my beak gently, mulling over my next words. "You take care of the Nameless, or at the very least help your Mistress with the task. Why wouldn't Sister Opalescence be flattered by your interests? I don't know much about Sisters, but I would think that they'd find you charming, regardless of your profession."
"Eh, well..." Brother Angel scuffs his foot against the ground once more, his lips pursed in thought. "Don't rush me. I'm gonna give it some time, y'know?"
"Of course." I nod and promptly turn to the jug of milk that looms before us, ever patient for me to open it.
The buck mimics my movements, his head cocking to the side in confusion. "What're ya doin', anyway?" he asks.
"I'm making a snack for my Mistress." I hobble forwards to take the container in my talon once more. "Or, well, at least trying to."
"Yeah, I can see that." Brother Angel crosses his forelegs as he watches me, a bemused sort of grin working at his face. "Ya need help?"
"Of course not!" I huff, pulling the milk along to rest beside the half-opened box of kernels. As soon as I do this, I flutter up to a specific wooden box, called by my Mistress as a 'cabinet'. It's an ingenious device, and it takes little effort for me to clutch a ceramic bowl in my talons to place against the counter.
"Ya sure?" he asks once more, hopping over to examine the overturned box of cereal with a trained eye. "I mean, no offense, but ya don't have these." In a large gesture, he points towards one of his forelegs, his tiny paw clutching within itself as if to prove a point.
"Are you insinuating something, Brother?" I remark. Talking of my lack of paws has always been a sore subject for me, especially when their absence reduces me to such a handicapped state. "That I'm not fit for my role?"
I cringe as Brother Angel laughs in reply, his alabaster form quaking with every little chuckle.
"What?" I turn to him, doing my very best as to not be completely annoyed.
It takes the rabbit a little time to regain his composure, though eventually he wipes a tear from the corner of his eye and regards me with a cynical smile. "Sorry, Bro." He waves a paw and leans back to sit on his cottony tail, using it as a makeshift cushion. "It's just that yer doin’ the same thing that ya told me not to do. It makes ya look like a huge hypocrite."
His remark causes for me to stop fumbling with the paper box of cereal, my beak unthinkingly clasps about one of the flaps of cardboard. "Pardon?" I ask, my voice garbled.
“The Great Brother Owlowicious, with his own honeyed voice that gets all the pretty Sisters swoonin’ can’t even follow his own advice, tsk tsk.” Brother Angel cups his cheek in mock disappointment before looking up at me. “Ya just told me not to beat myself up, right? Ain’t that what yer doin’ now?”
“I...” I rotate my head around to look towards the kitchen doorway, as if in fear that my Mistress might be standing there listening in on us. Sighing in relief, I turn back to Brother Angel, defeated. “You are right, aren’t you? For once,” I admit.
“See? Told ya.” The little rabbit puffs up his chest in triumph, his cocky grin ever present as he looks over towards the open kitchen window. “I take care of the Nameless, and ya take care of yer overbearing Mistress.”
I look out the window as well, and we both admire the tapestry of nightlights that Luna has once again set for us. “It’s the life of a Sibling, all the same,” I mutter in reply.
For a long while we sit in silence, practically huddled next to one another as we gaze outside. The task at talon is forgotten, more in favor of looking upon the world about us.
I often wonder what my life would still be like if I were still a Nameless, and if I had not made the attempt to attach myself to The Purple Mistress that one stormy night. I would have likely kept the life of a renegade, traveling among the village of hollow stones with my Hatch mate gliding along my side, all without a care in the world.
I close my eyes, submitting myself to darkness, and I can almost feel Brother Angel nodding off along beside me.
“Owlowiscious?!”
My Mistress’ calling rouses me from near slumber, and Brother Angel nearly jumps at her shout. He snaps his head towards me with a near terrified expression, his frown growing as we hear hoof beats nearing closer and closer.
I waste no time. “Hang on!” I unleash my wings and take the rabbit into my talons, and we fly flawlessly over to the window’s edge. Without any hesitation I drop him to the ground below, and he lands perfectly onto his paws.
“I’ll come over again later, okay?” he whispers up at me, placing a paw against his mouth.
“Right!” I reply, my head swiveling about to observe the kitchen doorway. “Good luck with Sister Opal!”
I only barely hear him mumble a thanks before my Mistress appears in the doorway, a concerned frown lacing her visage. The patch of fur upon her head is a tad messy, betraying her own sleeplessness.
Wordlessly, she looks at my workstation of milk and littered kernels with a surprised stare. “Owlowicious? Did you get all this for me?” she asks, seemingly impressed.
“I did... I’m sorry for not finishing the job properly, Miss,” I murmur reverently, offering her a short bow as a simple sort of translation to my lost words.
She stares at me as if in disbelief, turning from me to the cereal not less than three times. “This is incredible!” she breathes, a little tremor quivering over her quadruped body. “Absolutely incredible!”
“Is it?” I coo, more to myself than to her. Seeing her impressed by something so trivial is nothing short of amusing to me.
A little giggle bubbles to her throat, and she turns to envelop me in a surprisingly warm embrace. “This is absolutely perfect for my research, Owlowicious. You have no idea.” She lifts me from the windowsill and twirls me about the kitchen.
Despite an underlying sense of nausea, I click my beak in reply. “You’re right,” I murmur. “I don’t know.”
