ORIGIN

"Well," East drawled once his beak was a little less full of the latest bite of rabbit, "I believe I’ve got at least two more days before your boss lady expects me to clear out of here. Maybe I’ll wing on in sometime tomorrow and see what else you’ve got stored up in the ol’ brainpan." With a brief duck of the head, a talon tapped against the brim of his gemstone.

He might as well indulge in the luxury and grab another full meal or two, complete with alcoholic beverage. Who knew when another opportunity to live large like this would fall into his grasp, after all.

"Course, I can always pay a visit if my path ever winds back this way again," offered the bird as he began tucking into his food in earnest. "Maybe throw around some recommendations and nab a few others who wouldn’t mind checking out the joint too." A second of reconsideration elapsed. "If that’s all right? I don’t know how much liberty Isra gives you with entertaining guests. Wouldn’t want to presume too far."

Although a sense of urgency lurked in the back of his mind regarding the eventual relocation of a certain collection of bones, no amount of rush made itself evident throughout the remainder of the lunch. While there were stretches of silence from East’s side, courtesy of an occupied gullet and a lack of telepathy, every so often he contributed chatter to the scene. Surface level prods into palace life comprised this: general everyday activities and goings-on of staff. Nothing that’d venture into territory serious enough to risk his tail feathers, not unless simply learning the layout of the place was grounds enough to string him up for his own personal roast. And when all was finished, plate cleared of all the meat and most of the sauce-drenched vegetables, East tapped his beak around the inside of the wine glass for its last dregs.

Infuriatingly, stretching his tongue far enough to capture the final drop which taunted him from the very bottom proved impossible. He’d have to content himself with the fuzzy sensation suffusing feathers that the majority had caused. Full of better spirits than what he usually had the chance to imbibe, he gave Nedies a nod and friendly wave of his wing before taking flight for the palace hallways.

Now, Isra had said the bones were to be brought to a private room. It’d be best to answer the summons first to have a good idea where his perch for the next couple days would be. Once he had that out of the way, then the next priority could be addressed.

It wouldn’t be right to leave a well-read canine waiting forever. Promises, no matter how small, were never meant to be made lightly.

The main problem with being a guest was the set of rules that came alongside the title: don't be rude and don't trespass upon spaces you have no business being present in. The first was no real issue, uncultured as East could be, not nearly oblivious enough to ignore a situation when his beak should best remain shut. No, the second proved the current dilemma. Private rooms being, as the name stated, private meant he couldn't simply blunder his way to victory in the search for relocated bones. Seeing as he had no way of knowing whether his room was waiting unlocked for him, the old method of poking his head behind every door seemed unfeasible, and knocking on the closed ones appeared a good way to forfeit not only dignity, but life as well.

Much as his stomach appreciated taking the scenic route of finishing his meal instead of abandoning it, a certain shame lay in not pursuing that little messenger the second they'd shuffled into the kitchen. They might've held the directions necessary to avoid wasting time flying through a few too many hallways, head on a swivel for signs of either a temporary claim of residence hanging from a doorknob or another servant to prod for information. But that chance long past, there wasn't a point in regretting the indulgence in luxury. He'd just have to keep searching and hope he wasn't tugging out anyone's feathers by dallying too long.

Especially not if it was Isra. A bird didn't need to be a close acquaintance to recognize someone whose patience shouldn't be tested.

It seemed a good turn of luck could be found held within the broad bill of someone mildly of the avian persuasion. Thanks to that smartly dressed character he'd witnessed in Isra's presence before, East's wanderings wouldn't be nearly as meandering as they could have become. The hawk opened his beak upon catching sight of the dutiful butler, but any thanks were swallowed up in the wake of the other's hurried departure. Alighting briefly at the room's threshold, he gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders to nobody in particular and strolled inside.

Comments about the interior were not left at the door, even without an audience to bestow them upon. "Swanky," he remarked upon fully absorbing the elegant scene formed by the combination of silk, fur, and voidlight. "Why, complementing my feathers? You shouldn't have."

Rustling heralded his ascension to the bed. Settled beside the arranged bones there, East and the dead fellow from the gardens presented quite the picture: a potential scavenger seconds from violating a rich sap's tomb. Quick was he to disrupt the careful positioning of the skeleton resting upon the pelt, talons rolling its skull closer to him. The most troubling piece of the puzzle, it would absolutely have to be part of the first batch of bones to carry away. The forelimbs too, the other section notably bearing signs of injury. He'd determine the order of the rest based on how much weight he could handle for the trip.

The Narrator's voice slid into the room, sly as an assassin slipping a dagger between ribs. After the discovery of the bones and hinting at potential threads to pull, the mysterious spectator had fallen silent, not a whisper uttered throughout the first examination of the corpse. Perhaps they'd merely enjoyed the show East had made of hopping about the skeleton and staring at its unusual injuries. While he'd indulged in a meal, they might have taken a break too, kicked their invisible feet up and rehearsed their next reel of cryptic statements to bestow. Now, though, they chimed back in on the hawk's thoughts, nudging them back to old questions.

He greeted their return with the small, exasperated chuckle one might give to a particularly annoying but dear friend. "So you've joined the show again, huh. What, didn't want to miss the next act?"

The book, always the book, each entry as gap-filled to him as they were insightful. The end of every owner marked by suspicious spots of rust red. He'd considered and dismissed the possibility of the victim here having been one of those anonymous scribblers based off of recency alone, yet the Narrator harped on about referring back to those old pages. An urging to revisit conclusions or one to read closer into the details provided for some connection to the fresh gouges his talons traced over?

Whether the trail being laid out for him to follow had any more steps beyond burying his beak back inside the book, however, wouldn't be known anytime soon. Isra's irate entrance froze East in place, his crest feathers trembling the slightest at her abrupt appearance. The heavy pressure of suspense no longer leaning upon his chest didn't ease the cautious stare he leveled at her; only somewhat less in the dark than her, he doubted much could be offered to assuage her own confusion.

"I heard someone like they were right here," he ventured. "Talking some sort of nonsense, but I couldn't see them. You could... detect whatever it was they were doing to babble away like that?"

It was stepping out on a questionable limb to even admit to hearing voices, but he'd see whether that branch would be sufficient enough to support himself during this latest attempt to discover the face behind the observational remarks.

This wasn't the first time the curious voice documenting his every wing flap had shared their musings to an audience exceeding one. Back in the old arena of Orion, another had heard their observations too, an inquisitive skittering creature who'd proved more helpful than its nightmarish features had suggested. Those cycles ago, East had entertained that the Narrator's unfathomable power enabled them to be selective of listeners: a bird here, a horror there. Whatever audience they believed could best appreciate their morbid little tale, they'd lean in and whisper, a hallucination unheard except by the chosen few.

Even earlier, he'd speculated that somewhere this observer was hiding, weaving magic to throw their words a great distance farther than any being ordinarily could. That suspicion he'd not yet found much proof of beyond a pale feather left drifting in a tunnel.

What information Isra bestowed upon him now only deepened the mystery. It also caused an unsettling prickle to run through feathers. Just as inclined to using his own name as playful aliases, his identity had never been a tidbit he'd ever fully embraced amongst strangers, and yet, once upon a time, that voice had incorporated it in their narration as easily as they might remark upon a change in the weather. Had this magic clinging to him been the means used to gather such a personal detail? An insidious leech sucking out private thoughts while its creator broadcasted their opinions on them?

Such a possibility proved a troubling worm burrowing into his brain, and East exhaled a shuddering breath, relenting to reveal another inch of a long, complicated story. "A stalker's watchful eye? This... isn't the first I've heard this... someone. They seem to have taken a personal investment in me, regardless of whether I like it or not." Humor then tried to pull a cloak over emerging discomfort. "A bit rude, butting into anybody's life without even bothering to introduce themselves properly."