Chương 8: Communication

Shrike wakes up, slowly, almost catlike in the morning sun. She stretches widely, and puts another log on the fireplace. Despite Martin's insistence otherwise, she refuses to sleep anywhere besides directly next to the fireplace, both on top of and beneath a few layers of fire resistant blankets and a matching pillow. Beds are too soft, and not next to fire. An obvious choice from her perspective. She gets up, joints cracking like dried wood as she puts her opaque glasses on.

She groggily trudges down the stairs leading to the basement, opening the dryer and removing her clothing. Her dream last night plays through her mind as she places the heating coils into the custom made outfit. She wasn't in a forest. There was no snow. It was sand. Hot sand, every direction. There were no others in sight, but she knew she had companions nearby. Friends, even. A strange sensation, but a comfortable one.

She connects the various wires that carry electrical current throughout her clothing, which in turn produce heat. A misguided attempt to take the heat directly from the source dissuaded her from attempting to put any other conductive objects into the outlets, but she suspects there is more to electricity's warming ability than she is being told. She gets dressed, attaching the smaller of the two batteries she has. Useful for short outings, or for simply moving around the house, as today.

Yesterday was the last hunt. A not-deer, a magical beast very similar to a deer, but with forward facing eyes and a high level of intelligence. It had been transplanted by the conventional definition of 'hunter' and released onto private land to be killed for pleasure of the hunter. Naturally, the not-deer was resistant to the concept. Upon release, it didn't try to run, instead brutalizing the hunter with hard hooves and sharp antlers. He was barely conscious enough to call for MBR.

Martin had resolved the issue without actually hurting the not-deer, after they tracked it down. He hired a friend with a horse trailer to take it back to Tennessee instead of killing it. The not-deer was very cooperative and enthusiastic to return home, even offering Martin the hunter's wallet, which it had noticed humans seemed to value. Martin took the money, but returned the empty wallet to the man in the hospital with three broken ribs and a mild brain injury.

Perhaps he assumed the man wouldn't remember the money? Or, more likely, wouldn't care? It is nearing the middle of summer, well-needed by both her and humans after the cold spring. A spring that held lethally cold temperatures for Shrike were it not for human creations. Fire. Electricity. Boilers. Insulation. She wonders why her existence is so intrinsically tied to humanity, yet she isn't able to so much as exist in the same spaces as humans without having her eyes covered and her need for heat met.

She is a single mismatched thread in the tapestry. She thinks she is like the not-deer, like a transplant from a different land, and placed in one she is not meant for. In any case, this is where she is now, and she doesn't have a Tennessee to return to, as far as she knows. Shrike speaks to the voice of her phone. She does not understand the mechanism within, but according to Martin, it is typical of humans to not understand the devices they use.

The voice replies that one of the six contacts on her phone, Cain, has messaged her three times. An easily manageable number. Cain, the other kynde, who claims to be cursed by God to walk the Earth eternally as punishment for slaying his brother thousands of years prior. No humans can seem to remember any specifics about him, and can barely even perceive him. Cain does not bother her, as she tells the voice in her phone to reply with "Not particularly, maybe, and pelicans."

If anything, his constant need for attention is reassuring, in its own way. It reminds her that others rely on her, and that she has her own need for attention met in spades. She has considered before if she was cursed in the past for some long forgotten transgression like Cain, and decided that it didn't particularly matter. She is satisfied with her life as it is, and therefore does not have a reason to break the curse even if it existed. By extension she doesn't care if she is cursed or not.

A simple logical pathway. It occurs to her Martin is still asleep. She had observed his process for making food several times, and though pancakes are out of reach due to not having precise understanding of the recipe, eggs seem achievable. It is July 2nd. They have been been working with each other for over three months now. By her logic, she has long since stopped being a guest, and has officially become a resident. Which means she has an obligation to the upkeep of the house, and people within.

She hears Martin's feet moving around upstairs. She has barely begun the process. Humans, including Martin, enjoy surprise displays of attention and care. Shrike sets up a wall of light across the top of the stairs to prevent his access to this floor, and returns to the eggs. He will be surprised, to be certain, and therefore he will be happy. Martin wakes up with a yawn and a stretch, sliding out of bed into comfortable slippers.

Seeing a not-deer yesterday was fun, especially after hearing why it was in Utah to begin with. He only wishes he could have seen it pummeling the hell out of that hunter for himself. He has nothing against animal hunters inherently, especially since half the wildlife sanctuaries in the state only exist because of them, but capturing a deer just to release it somewhere else to kill the thing seems lazy and cruel.

He sleepily walks to the stairs, and nearly trips as his foot fails to make contact with the first step. He looks down, tapping firmly on the solid wall of magic light beneath him. What is she scheming? Whatever it is, he's sure it will be entertaining. It's oddly slippery, he thinks, taking another step on top of it curiously. Is light supposed to be slippery? The eggs are prepared, but breakfast seems incomplete. She thinks interrogatively. What else... toast? Yes.

Humans enjoy that as well, as evidenced by the toaster's existence and Martin eating it. Obviously. The toaster takes roughly three minutes, needlessly long, and delaying Martin access to his own home for an extended period may upset him. She takes two slices of bread, and conjures a flame in her hand, red-orange in color, and carefully toasts the bread. Fortunately, she has developed an extremely fine control of heat over her life, and it is complete in seconds.

She dismisses the floor of light to allow Martin to progress. Martin drops, the wall of light beneath him dispersing before he thinks to back up. He tries to catch himself, but his hand misses the railing as he tumbles down the stairs and onto the ground floor. Nothing broken, nothing sprained, quite a few things probably bruised. He slowly pulls himself to his feet, and sees Shrike running over to check on him.

"Morning, Shrike," he says, grunting as he straightens his back. She remembers it as a greeting, and not a statement.

"Good morning. Are you injured?" she asks, nervously flexing her fingers.

"Only on the surface. Nothing bad, don't worry. Next time, keep any magic walls vertical, okay?"

"Yes. I will. I apologize for my lack of foresight." Martin rubs the growing bruise on his forearm.

"So why did you do that anyway? Spider in the house?"

"No, the only spider I have noticed inside recently is non-venomous, and per your previous instructions it has been relocated outside. The purpose of the wall was to delay you until my objective was complete. I have made you breakfast."

"Oh!" he says, trying to sound encouraging despite anticipating the worst.

"Thank you! That's very thoughtful." The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"You are welcome." She smiles. A genuine reaction of hers, one she has done more of recently. It's a real smile, too, not the uncomfortable imitation one used when she talks to people she dislikes but has a vested interest in getting on the good side of. It's a nice smile, Martin thinks. Gentle and warm. He sits down and looks at his breakfast, bracing for the worst. Despite expectation, it looks perfect. He laughs quietly to himself.

Obviously the person who can sense heat levels would be capable of cooking eggs and toast. The two eat together. Shrike makes a joke about the not-deer meeting a not-human. Martin laughs more audibly. An easy morning, Martin thinks, like most these last few months. Shrike has been becoming...

'more human' is the wrong phrase, he decides. More herself. She laughs, she gets irritated, she talks about her own preferences when she has them. It's reassuring, in a way, to know that she's so comfortable with both herself and with him. As he eats the breakfast she made, he catches glimpses of her looking out the window, though her eyes always return to him.

Around noon, his cell vibrates in a familiar buzzing pattern as he lounges on the couch, Shrike balled up by the fire and buried beneath her nest of blankets. He answers it with a "Yello?"

"Long time no talk," Elia, his handler, says over the phone.

"Yeah... did I do something wrong?" he asks the woman on the other end.

"You sure as hell did. 93% success rate, successful kynde partnership, Nemean lion, remember? You're getting honored." Martin runs his hand across his stubble.

"I'm going to skip the ceremony, just mail the award over," he says dismissively.

"Ohhh no you don't. You have to be here. There's a star waiting for you, not just any old award." Elia seems to be enjoying herself.

"Damn it... when?"

"Three days. And get ready to give a speech."

"Ahh, shame. I'm busy in three days. Maybe I can get a stand-in."

"Sucks to be you, you'd need either a previous or current partner to... Martin. No. That's a terrible idea. Martin, I know what you're- you hung up on me. Great."

"Why is this archway squealing?" Shrike asks as she walks through a vertical plastic doorway.

"It appears to be damaged somehow." The young guard glances at his screen, then at her with concern.

"Miss, you are completely covered in wires."

"I understand now. This is the metal detector." She nods slowly, remembering her next line.

"I am wearing assistive devices required to keep my core temperature at a suitable level."

"... miss, it's perfectly warm in here." He says, frowning. Shrike realizes her mistake.

"I apologize for not specifying further. I am not human. I am the kynde who is set to speak today."

"No you aren't... do I need to get more security?"

"If you are skeptical, I have brought my ID." She fumbles through her pockets for a moment, before eventually withdrawing and presenting her hunting license while faking a smile. The guard takes it, clucking his tongue as he looks it over.

"Okay, glasses off so I can check your eyes. ID says the color is...

'other'." Shrike's fake smile fades into a slight frown.

"I would prefer not to. Artificial light is very unpleasant. Did you receive the instructions I had written?" She spent a good amount of time hand-writing 20 or so simple rules that were given ahead of time to the MBR. In comparison to the over 800 human rules Shrike counted before giving up, it seemed difficult to mess up.

"They're around here somewhere, probably. Just show me your eyes." Her frown turns deeper as she removes her glasses as instructed, and slowly squints one eye open. The guard pries it open with his fingers, which Shrike allows for two seconds exactly before pushing his hand away and putting the glasses back on. The guard look at the ID a final time, before returning it.

"Fine, you're the kynde. You still need to pass through the metal detector." Somehow, the kynde's face returning to a neutral expression is more upsetting than the frown or the smile.

"You are trying my patience, human. I have allowed your tests, I have given an adequate explanation, and I am beginning to question if your authority is legitimate." This person is in Martin's group, but is not a soldier, researcher, nor a hunter. She has assumed him to be in a regulatory position, but his obstinance makes it difficult to believe.

"That's it, I'm-" Shrike grabs him by the shoulders, leaning in close and keeping her voice low. According to Martin, she is intimidating to people. Maybe, she thinks, that fact is to her benefit.

"I am not an inherently violent creature, but I have an obligation to my partner to proceed from here quickly. As such, I have decided to advance to my destination regardless of your approval. You may attempt to stop me if you wish, but I advise against it." She gently releases him, and walks through the detector again, letting it beep. She looks around briefly afterward, detecting a few different identical seeming hallways.

"Additionally, in which direction am I intended to progress in?" Shrike takes the stage, stepping from behind a curtain. As requested, all the lights in the hall are turned off. She takes off her sunglasses, and creates her own lights that litter the air around the hall, providing plenty of light for everyone.

"Hello. Good afternoon. I am Shrike C, partner of Martin C. I accepting this award on his behalf. No flash photography will be permitted during the duration of my speech." She looks at the audience. Maybe fifty people, mostly hunters-in-training and unstarred hunters required to be here, but also Moth and Ferret. Possum was busy, but very apologetic.

"You may-" She recoils in pain as a light flares out.

"I stated no flash photography. I will not give a third warning. You may know me best as the one who-" She summons a small spike of light that pierces an audience member's phone as it takes a second photo.

"-who contained the blast from a brainrazed technology magician's bomb multiple months ago. More likely, you do not know me in any capacity. I prefer the second of the two." No one laughs at her joke other than Ferret and Moth. Some are still looking at the hunter-in-training having a small meltdown over his phone.

"I am not a human. I am a kynde. Regardless of this, Martin has treated me with the respect and courtesy I deserve. This is his mentality for all of our assignments. To respect each magical beast's unique needs, and if possible, avoid having me render them a charred husk." Several people laugh. She wasn't trying to make a joke, but she'll accept it.

"I am an ineloquent speaker. I will say this last piece, then be finished. I am not the most dangerous, most terrifying, or most threatening creature you will find. Respect your quarry. You will likely regret your lack of caution and care from the jaws of whatever creature chose to respect you instead." There is very light, slightly nervous applause as she steps down, and sits in the front row next to the trainee whose phone she destroyed.

"Quick, before anyone sees I'm here!" Martin says, wearing dark sunglasses and a hoodie. Shrike slides into the back seat, and he speeds off, head ducked down slightly.

"Thanks again, Shrike. I hate speeches and awards."

"It is a human insecurity." She smiles, making Martin snort.

"What is a three star hunter ranking, exactly?"

"It's a zero to five ranking system. Higher ranking, more dangerous quarry, noticeably better pay. By the way, why am I being told you threatened a security guard?"

"Likely because I threatened a security guard when he did not allow me to pass." He drives away from the mountains and the city, letting the issue drop. There's a picnic spot, surprisingly green for the elevation, that's barely used by others. Martin and Shrike has gotten into the habit of going there after hunts, to relax and enjoy whatever the sky brings, day or night, dawn or dusk. They pull alongside the the grass, still slightly wet from the morning sprinklers.

Together, they lay out a blanket and basket, and wait for their friends to arrive. They don't wait long, as a second car pulls up behind the first, sleek and black. Ferret and Moth wave as the take a seat on the blanket as well.

"Great speech, Shrike. I liked the part where you nearly killed that kid." Moth smirks, earning an elbow to the ribs from Ferret. Moth elbows back, making Ferret wince.

"Thank you. I appreciate the compliment, regardless of intention."

"I've been meaning to ask you something, Shrike." Ferret says.

"And don't take this the wrong way. But why do you talk like that?" Shrike clears her throat, putting on a thoroughly convincing southern Utah accent.

"Hey there, Elder! Don't worry about spilling the fry sauce, you're fine! Are you coming to the stake center for the ice cream social? Frick, I hear the Relief Society is making funeral potatoes and bringing Fresca!" Moth is nearly doubled over laughing, Ferret scrunching his face tight to avoid his own cackling, while Martin looks at her in horror.

"Jesus Christ, please never do that again," Martin says. Ferret, after a moment, wipes away a tear.

"That was beautiful, Shrike."

"I can talk normally if I need to, it just takes effort, you know? This isn't natural for me to do. Like, it takes a lot of effort and concentration to use the right words." She looks away for a moment.

"I believe it was caused by my incomplete hibernatory period. Regardless, it feels more authentic for me to speak as I find natural over typical cadence and verbiage. It additionally serves to remind others I am not human, a fact many tend to forget." Ferret rolls her words around in his head for a minute.

"Do you dislike being mistaken for human?"

"I care little. However, I find humans care immensely. They react unpredictably upon discovering my nature. Sometimes in horror, sometimes in curiosity, sometimes in anger. Secondary to that, once identifying me as human, they are less likely to fulfill my individual requirements such as heat and aversion to artificial light." He seems satisfied with the answer, though a bit deflated by it.

"That's as good a reason as any. Now, I heard there was food?"