Diaval could be a very quiet and observant bird when he wished it. At the moment, he didn't particularly. He was rather large, so it wasn't like there was a lack of attention directed his way as he flapped up to land on the back of a chair, feathers rustling. He let out a short, sharp caw--turning his head this way and that to get a better fix on what was in front of him.
He had no idea where he was. He couldn't feel the wind--he was obviously indoors, but even then he could always hear or feel the currents of air rushing by, ebbing and flowing like water. Here, it was constant and unnatural, directed by something, and not nearly enough to be of use in flying. The air was dead.
He also couldn't hear the song of other birds, even from far away. That was just as troubling--his kind could often tell him things that were useful. Nearby sources of food and water. Where to avoid, for fear of dogs or hunters.
Most distressing was that he couldn't feel his mistress' magic, anywhere nearby, save what he carried in his bones. That was cause for concern. And he couldn't even ask what was happening. Well. In a way that he could be understood easily. It was too difficult for him to form human speech with his throat and beak, anything more than simple words and phrases was beyond him.
What was an incredibly clever, resourceful, and beautiful raven to do in this sort of situation?
[Man-form]
The chair Diaval was perched on tilted backwards suddenly as, for the hundredth time, he thought how much simpler it would be if he had a man's capability to speak, fae magic coursing within him. His wings spread wide and he squawked his surprise, but he was already in the throes of transformation and it came out awkward and strangled. He was used to the change, so he didn't find himself writhing around as he had the first time, but he was flat on his back behind an upended chair, head underneath a table--small wonder he didn't crack it on the way down, he must've been still growing at the time.
Well. This was embarrassing. And strange, since he'd never been able to change shape on his own.
He rolled, slid out from under the table, and stood up, hands smoothing down ruffled clothing just like he'd have fussed with his feathers if he still had most of them, glancing around.
Of course he hadn't gone unseen. Puffing himself up, he looked every inch the proud raven he was, utterly unconcerned about the prospects of going back to his natural form. Even if he didn't know how he'd triggered the change in the first place, so he was in reality very concerned.
At least he hadn't been desperately wishing to be a dragon again.
Diaval | Maleficent | Option 1
Diaval could be a very quiet and observant bird when he wished it. At the moment, he didn't particularly. He was rather large, so it wasn't like there was a lack of attention directed his way as he flapped up to land on the back of a chair, feathers rustling. He let out a short, sharp caw--turning his head this way and that to get a better fix on what was in front of him.
He had no idea where he was. He couldn't feel the wind--he was obviously indoors, but even then he could always hear or feel the currents of air rushing by, ebbing and flowing like water. Here, it was constant and unnatural, directed by something, and not nearly enough to be of use in flying. The air was dead.
He also couldn't hear the song of other birds, even from far away. That was just as troubling--his kind could often tell him things that were useful. Nearby sources of food and water. Where to avoid, for fear of dogs or hunters.
Most distressing was that he couldn't feel his mistress' magic, anywhere nearby, save what he carried in his bones. That was cause for concern. And he couldn't even ask what was happening. Well. In a way that he could be understood easily. It was too difficult for him to form human speech with his throat and beak, anything more than simple words and phrases was beyond him.
What was an incredibly clever, resourceful, and beautiful raven to do in this sort of situation?
[Man-form]
The chair Diaval was perched on tilted backwards suddenly as, for the hundredth time, he thought how much simpler it would be if he had a man's capability to speak, fae magic coursing within him. His wings spread wide and he squawked his surprise, but he was already in the throes of transformation and it came out awkward and strangled. He was used to the change, so he didn't find himself writhing around as he had the first time, but he was flat on his back behind an upended chair, head underneath a table--small wonder he didn't crack it on the way down, he must've been still growing at the time.
Well. This was embarrassing. And strange, since he'd never been able to change shape on his own.
He rolled, slid out from under the table, and stood up, hands smoothing down ruffled clothing just like he'd have fussed with his feathers if he still had most of them, glancing around.
Of course he hadn't gone unseen. Puffing himself up, he looked every inch the proud raven he was, utterly unconcerned about the prospects of going back to his natural form. Even if he didn't know how he'd triggered the change in the first place, so he was in reality very concerned.
At least he hadn't been desperately wishing to be a dragon again.