Aloft
At first the constant whizzing above his head had been an annoyance, an unfortunate attribute to the experience of flight.
And yet there was something so exhilarating about the buzzing, the whirr whirr whirr of the three little blades that swished and swashed above his head. Imagine the pain he would feel if he were to stretch up his neck ever so slightly! The sheer thought was enough for the tortoise to feel another rush of excitement, of cautious delight that something so deadly could be so wonderful.
The goggles that had been set over his glazed eyes distorted the world. They were magical, wonderful things. Imagine seeing a clear blue sky with not a cloud in sight, and to have two thick frames of glass forcibly shoved onto your cranium. Every time this happened the light baby blue of the sky morphed into a sickly yellow from the tinted glass, with flecks and bits of dirt caught on the frames. He had to wonder; would the color ever change? At first the yellow had been rather nice, but perhaps the goggles would change to a greenish tint, much like himself.
Tank didn't consider himself to be particularly vain or egotistical, but the thought of seeing a world cloaked in emerald had always ruffled his feathers, so to speak. It hadn't happened yet, as the lenses continued their yellowy tirade, but he could hope.
Flying itself had been fairly difficult to master, but not as difficult as he would have thought. The Purple Mistress had done an excellent job in constructing the peculiar device that was strapped about his bulbous shell. It fit snugly, with the faux leather taut about the crevices before reaching the apex at the top, where the propeller sat. Truly genius. He had made sure to thank her with one of his winning smiles.
And now here he was, on his own, floating about wherever the wind carried him. His legs dangled helplessly, waving here and there in a feeble attempt to steer. He didn't care though. As long as he was in the air he didn't care where he went.
His own Blue Mistress had mainly escorted him around at first. Now that he was able to perform flight on his own her chaperoning was no longer necessary. He was a little saddened at first, but flying independently was far different than flying with a companion. It made the experience evermore fresh.
As Tank slowly floated through the sky, he examined the terrain below. From what he could see, he was in the place where the Pink, Purple, and White Mistresses lived, the one with the tallish hollow rocks. It was always quite beautiful when looking down at them from above, to look at all the Masters and Mistresses that strolled between the tanned boulders. The ground was lightly trampled from the interference of hooves, with all the grass underneath either a dull green or a dying brown.
The tortoise tilted himself upwards to climb the air, to hide himself from any questioning eyes. Most Masters or Mistresses tended to make a rather big deal about his new-found ability, all crowding around underneath him in a sea of colored bodies. At first the sensation of being noticed by so many had tickled his ego, now the constant shouts of excitement were rather annoying.
As he ascended further, his front legs pressed against the underbelly of his shell to allow for greater speed. As he did so, he could hear a far-off exclamation from what sounded to be a Little Lord, and then silence. His Mistress had probably shushed him, Tank figured.
When the hollow rocks had turned to mere dots from below, he changed position. It was far enough, and he had to learn the hard way that the higher you go, the faster the air goes. Tank much preferred to go at a slower pace, much unlike his Blue Mistress.
He smiled at the thought of her, of her and her unnaturally tinted tufts of fur. It made her unique, and it made her the perfect Mistress for someone like himself. She was a little cocky, yes, but that was part of the charm that she radiated. It was a refreshing change from his Yellow Mistress, to be sure.
For a short moment he let his eyes close, allowing for his ears to soak in everything around him. It was quiet, overall, save for a distinct beating of wings from several feet away. Of course one would think that such a sound would be coming from a Master or a Mistress, but Tank wasn't so sure. There was something slightly erratic about the sound, as if the body that the wings were holding up was much lighter.
It got louder, that beating, coming up closer and closer until Tank could crane his neck to the side and spot a small dark dot in the distance.
The dot became larger and larger, forming into a 'm' shape with two large, cream colored eyes. A beak was formed, its hue a mustard yellow that seemed slightly tainted by the wisps of clouds that had gathered around the form's body.
"Brother Owlow?!" Tank called out, his voice erupting through the calm and constant beating of the blades above his back. He sounded raspy, sore, like an old man that was sick with cold. "Come forth, friend, if it is you! I'd like your company!"
Owlowiscious seemed startled at first as he halted and hovered in the air for a short moment, only to immediately right himself and press forward at a faster pace. "So it is you!" he called back. Unlike Tank's, his voice was much smoother, akin to warmed honey poured in a vat of milk.
His shape became ever larger before the two were side by side, each carrying the biggest of grins on their face. While their flight forbade them from sharing an embrace, Tank allowed for himself raise a stubby leg and place it upon his friend's chest, though only for a second as to allow the bird to breath.
"Why, how long has it been?" Tank prodded, his widened grin never once fading. "Is The Purple Mistress well? What of Little Lord Lavender?"
"Oh, the usual!" Owlowlicious hooted gaily. "The Purple Mistress has been rather relaxed as of late... though I fear that her Little Lord's animosity towards me appears to be slightly growing." Had his shoulders been able to, he would have shrugged. "I suppose some things just can't be helped, eh?" He chuckled, then twirled his head round so that he could face his companion. "What of The Blue Mistress?" he inquired.
"Oh, I'm afraid that I and my Mistress have not met up yet as of late," Tank said. Due to the propellers upon his back, every word had to be enunciated properly. It was bothersome, but it was a necessary evil if he wanted to keep to the air.
Owlowlicious seemed bothered by his answer, from the stiffened way that he moved his wings. "Sister Opal informed me that you've not been seeing her recently," he said cautiously.
If Tank had an eyebrow, he would have risen it. "Pah! What does a cat know?" he grumbled, much to his Brother's discomfort. It was common knowledge that he and Opal had never been on particularly good relations. For a short moment, the shelled reptile took a deep breath to calm his nerves. "I'm afraid that she is right though... but it isn't of my doing! I can never find her anywhere, my Mistress I mean..." he murmured, forgetting the dull rumble of his propellers.
It didn't matter though, for Owlowicious' sharp ears were able to pick up everything that his Brother had said. Even with the handicap of a beak, he seemed to frown. "Is she neglecting you?" he proposed gently.
His smooth, lacy voice was like a pacifier for Tank, who relaxed immediately. "Oh, I think it's more of how we're so... mismatched. She wants to go fast, after all." He chuckled bitterly. "Who am I to disrupt her life? To do so would relieve me of my title by default." He paused, then sighed. "I will simply hang about the hollow stones and wait until the opportunity for us to meet."
"That sounds a tad formal, don't you think?" Owlowicious prodded, his face grave. "Such chance meetings completely disregard your purpose as a Brother."
"Not all Brothers and Sisters are to be permanently latched to their Masters and Mistresses," Tank retorted. The two were flying higher now, ascending slowly as to glide over a rather large hill. The village of the hollow rocks laid behind them, leaving the vast expanse of the outside untouched. Eyes narrowed, Tank could see nothing but a vague skyline of the landmasses that came ever closer.
The two were silent for some time until Owlowicious spoke once more. "It isn't natural," he murmured sullenly.
"What isn't?" Tank asked, raising an eyebrow.
"The tie with your mistress. It isn't right."
"Why not?"
Owlowicious shook his head slightly, eyes clenched against the ongoing wind. "My wings are growing tired... Shall we take a round about and double back to the hollow rocks?" he asked, near pleadingly.
Tank nodded and leaned to the right, allowing for his weight to shift over and guide him around. The wind whipped around him, blasting against the protective thick glass of his goggles. His stubby legs dangled helplessly as the two drove a long arc around.
By the time they had finished steering, Tank could see that the sun had begun to descend behind the mountains, giving way for Luna's ever reaching grasp of night. It would be a while yet, but for now he had all the time in the world to glide and bask in the company of his friend.
They flew back the way they had come, lowering themselves so that they went in among the hollow stones in a shallow ramp. Owlowicious silently guided them both towards the deformed tree, what with its strange wooden platforms and internal lights. The two landed smoothly on the platform near the top, with Tank's propeller gently slowing to a stop.
The descending sun made the world golden, though the radiance of the waning light was lost to poor Tank. His goggles made the world so much bleaker, so much less than the glorious form that it once was. Grunting, he tried to lift a leg to shove them off his face, but to no avail. They were strapped tight. As soon as he opened his mouth to ask for some help, Owlowicious finally spoke.
"Brothers and Sisters are born to find a Master or Mistress, Tank," he murmured. His talons were tightly curled about the railing of the platform, with his front facing away from Tank's land-bound form. "We're meant to be their companions, meant to be alongside them through thick and thin, not to act so frivolously and bask in the harsh light of petty vanity."
"Vanity?" Tank scoffed. "Brother Owlow, are you implying that I'm 'vain' to begin with? Vanity is a trait harbored by creatures like Sister Opal, not for the likes of myself," he reasoned simply.
"Oh really?" In a short second, Owlowicious' head looped about and faced Tank, his round eyes gleaming a sickly yellow in the darkening sky. "I see nothing more than a pretty white bird preening his new feathers, too selfish to even bother going out of his way to be sure that his Little Lord isn't out playing in the midnight streets. I see a turtle, pardon, a tortoise, not fulfilling his duties as a Brother."
Tank took a deep breath and exhaled, eyes closing to extinguish the angry red that had begun to dot the corners of his vision. "Then what do you propose that I do about it?" he muttered bitterly. "Do you not think that I look for her? Because I do. I look everywhere. All the time." He shuffled back and forth, allowing for his legs and neck to retreat back into his shell. It was a gesture of discomfort, of sorrow and loneliness.
Owlowicious' hardened expression melted. "Forgive me, Brother Tank. I did not mean to put the blame of this matter onto your shoulders." He let his head spin around to its proper position before hopping to the platform's floor. The sharp tips of his talons clicked gently against the dry wood as he moved closer. "I'll ask again, does she neglect you?" he inquired, softly. His words came smooth, lovingly, like a vocal caress against the rough edges of the tortoise's bulky shell.
Tank rested his chin against the bottom lip of his shell's head opening, his wrinkled face twisted into a frown. "No," he murmured firmly. "She doesn't."
"Oh?" Owlowicious lightly hooted. He placed a feathered arm against Tank's back.
"When I do see her, it's... wonderful." Tank chortled breathlessly. "She's always practicing some horrifying stunt for one of those barbaric competitions, always asking if I want to try." He shook his head. Of course there was no possible way that The Blue Mistress could ever teach a cumbersome reptile like himself to perform such graceful leaps in the air. "Then she'll loop her arms about me and carry me... gently... all around the sky."
Owlowicious could see that his Brother's eyes were watering, tainting the dull green of his withered skin. "Perhaps your handicap of being primarily land-bound has made your connection so, Brother Tank," he calmly suggested, rubbing his wing lightly to and fro on his Brother's back. "Now it doesn't seem as if your chance meetings are your fault."
"I can't even live in her house, Brother," Tank blubbered, his little form shaking. "Only the winged Masters and Mistresses can walk upon the clouds, and her home is made up of them." he drew his head further into his shell, so that only the little bump of his nose was present.
Now Owlowicious fully understood. He stayed silent for some time, stroking the back of a shell that could not feel the motion nor the pressure of his touch. It was a movement done to help him think, to contemplate over his words. He watched as the final rays of the sun were lost to the midnight blue of the dark, as the stars doffed their blackened backdrops and shone down below. He did not have much time left, so every word would have to count.
Finally, the owl turned to Tank and blinked slowly, evenly. "Your relationship with The Blue Mistress is much like my own with The Purple Mistress," he whispered. "I can only see her at night, only when The Little Lord Lavender has fallen under his slumber. It is then that we meet."
Tank was silent, unmoving against Owlowiscious' touches and words.
Undeterred, Owlowicious went on. "The meetings that you have with your Mistress should be evermore cherished for their rareness, like one of the those precious gems that Sister Opal so covets." He chuckled gently. "Though I understand your helplessness and melancholy. Perhaps you might take your idle time to partake in some social outings with Brother Gummy or Sister Winona. I know that they've been wanting to meet with you again."
"Owlowicious!"
A clear, ringing voice cried out to the heavens, expectant in its tone. Owlowicious tensed and folded his wing back to his side, claws clicking as he made his way over to Tank's front. "I must leave now, Brother." He sighed, though not unhappily. "Would you like to stay here for tonight? I'll wake The Little Lord Lavender and have him make some tea for you. Would you like that?"
Tank extended his neck from the inner regions from his shell, tears still running down his saggy cheeks as he pressed the side of his head against Owlowicious' fluffy chest. For a short second, his face was lost in a sea of tiny white feathers. "I would like that very much, Brother," he murmured, his voice muffled.
The owl would have smiled if he were physically capable. "Remember, Brother Tank; you have friends apart from your Mistress, friends who are wanting a chance to see you once more."
And with that, Owlowicious spread his wings and took to the air, doubling back to gently glide in a small circle down the tree to its lower opening. There was a Mistress there, waiting patiently.
Her eyes lit up as she saw her winged servant float to the window pane. "Took you a while, didn't it?" she laughed. "You better not be slacking on me, mister!"
In response, the owl merely cocked his head to the side.
"Who?"