cont. with @moonbeammuses

                  Blackwing has never been about fairness. It isn’t, truthfully, fair that they should be caged here, the whole lot of them: subject upon subject upon subject, neatly packed away into their individual cells with no silver lining guiding their thoughts toward a better future. It’s not fair to be encumbered by stupid powers no person in their right mind would ever voluntarily have asked for. It’s not fair that said powers do, on the best of days, feel positively disempowering, due to some crazed nonsensical paradox of the ultimate go-screw-yourself-ness. And lastly --- lastly { but, as they say, most certainly not leastly }, it definitely, absolutely isn’t bloody fair that Mona should be the one to bear witness to his meltdown over the absurdity of it all. Granted, Dirk wouldn’t be all too surprised to find that his friend would not only gladly bear, but also raccoon, meerkat and fox witness to whatever annoyance du jour he presents her with ------ but the fact endures that she deserves better, that she shouldn’t be forced to lend any number of ears to his yammering.

                  If his stomach was roiling with anger before, guilt now joins the Merry Society Of Wreaking Havoc In Project Icarus’ Intestines, turning it into a veritable riot. Hands flying up to his tear-glistening eyes, Dirk draws his knees against his chest and tries in vain to control the quaking that makes jelly of his entire body. He doesn’t want to be here any longer, is the simple truth of it. Perhaps --- well, yes. Perhaps he just doesn’t want to be anymore. 

                  A gentle draft strokes along the shell of his ear. Amidst the sickening despair, an image of autumn leaves tumbling in a breeze springs to mind and conjures up the most microscopic twitch of a smile. But when Dirk blinks some clarity back into his dampened vision, the cell remains its lifeless, tree-bereft self, sterile and unaffected by the turn and twist of the seasons outside ... and what rests beside his naked, cold-tinged toes is not a leaf, but a message. Sucking in a shuddery breath, he gingerly uncoils himself and picks up the letter. It seems almost grotesquely soft in a world that is anything but, a friendly caress beneath his fingertips.  Mona. She always tends to his wounds in her own way, doesn’t she? A sunflowery glow flickers up in the depths of Dirk’s heart: not quite a silver lining, but almost. He unfolds the letter with utmost caution, holding it at arm’s length to keep the inky handwriting from weeping along with his tears. In all likelihood, these are the sweetest words ever to have been sent his way. He wouldn’t forgive himself for smudging them.

                  “ I’d quite like a hug, please. ” Whatever dwells inside him, Dirk’s not entirely positive that Mona is right in her assumption that it must be love. At the very moment, it feels more like bile trying to crawl up his throat, reducing his voice to a pain-swamped whisper. “ If I could get one. ”