ozzie's smile was a soft flicker of motion in her periphery. he puffed out his feathers, took a deep breath, and ... did his job, like a pro. oh. tufted ears swiveled sharply in his direction, hinting at a touch of surprise. that's pretty damn good, actually. diversify, focus, don't get distracted: all suggestions she would've made herself, and ozzie's delivery was halting, but encouraging. he looked to her for approval as he finished, and she found a smile for him (with effort) — slight, thin, but a smile all the same, delivered with a small nod. "nailed it," she told him, very quietly. exhale, and damask settled in for the show, wrapping her tail over her toes.
what followed was ... nope. sorry. definitely not what anyone would call a fight. sure is something, though. wings beat, feathers flew, and talons scuffed against the stone. the accipiter's eyes tracked every maneuver, catching on details — mostly mistakes. in no time at all, a distinct pattern emerged, and it went like this: lemonface would pull a ridiculous stunt, generally involving either the same silly spell or an obvious trick; avi would retaliate with some sort of tackle; neither move would do much of anything; and raucous banter would leap back and forth, flung from their mouths like little toy darts.
"how's that, huh?! ... what'chu got, huh? ... ain't got nothin', that's what!" damask's gaze slid towards ozzie. oh, cut it out — he's fiiine, kid's got it covered. hey! there he is again, direly in need of validation! quick, smile. okay. yes. good. repeat that as necessary. gee, he really does need it, doesn't he? keep an eye on that. now, back to the ... what're we calling it, a spar? very generous, but all right. so, you've gotta watch, and you've gotta remember. easy. this requires fully one third of your attention. what're you gonna do with the rest of it? think about your sad, sad childhood? yeah? "... take that!... " must be nice, huh? having friends. having fun. "... yeah! it is! ..." it's not even like it wasn't your fault. you could've gone out and socialized — you know, like a normal kid — but ohh, no, you had to put it off, had to decide you were good and ready first. what? just look at these two! you think they would've cared if you had a passing grade in social skills or not? say, what if you'd had times like these, a chance to let loose and act your own age? would you have turned out any better? "... i think it's broken! ..." nah, damask, you wouldn't've. broken is how you were from the start.
and ... we're done! boy, that was fast! turns out, time flies when you're feeling terrible, too!
her claws gave a few restless taps beneath the frond of her tailtip. both contenders lay panting on the ground, covered in dust. a mottled wing rose into the air, followed by a rolling pair of feet as lemonface found just enough air to gloat. he wobbled his way upright, then approached her, all wiggly brows and sloppy, dopey grins. damask held her ground, despite the urge to step away. a ... a hug? does he really expect — ... man, these kids really don't know you at all, do they? she jerked her muzzle a couple inches to the left, one eye narrowed in reproach: not on your life, but hey, keep dreaming. her breath came out in a soft huff. she opened her mouth to respond —
"what?! how? i totally won that." and there was avi. little harder not to budge, this time. "dammy?" ooh. that stung, didn't it. another jerk of her muzzle, mirrored to the right. it came off as half a warning, half a rebuke, just like the first — and that was how she meant it, but ... somehow, it felt a little more like a flinch. "which one of us won? it's me, right?"
she glanced sidelong at ozzie. ooh. shit. frustration sparked hotly in her chest, burning off a matchstick of flaring concern. all right. stay cool, stick to the plan, fussing isn't gonna make it better. she didn't linger long. returning at once to the others, the accipiter parted her wings for order in the court. "easy, easy." a moment to ensure she had their attention — no crosstalk, no arguing — and her sails shuffled back into place. "hey, why are you looking at me? what did i say?" here, an emphatic tip of her head towards ozzie. "ask him. he looks like he knows what he's talking about. me, i'm not even here." damask sidestepped, leaving center stage to ozzie alone. the less she had to do with this, the better. she could've come to his rescue in earnest, but — he's not your pet, kid, and coaxing him along was only bound to humiliate him further when, well ... when his friends didn't hear a word of his advice? when they just asked the teacher to pick a winner, despite said teacher having very explicitly told them not to? when they haven't even looked at him? oh, you'd be a total wreck, too. even just the secondhand embarrassment is making you queasy. wow.
and it wasn't an easy position she'd put him in. a blink of her eyes was all it took to play back the action. just for a second, put all your biases somewhere else, and with a little mental math, she had her own analysis ready to go: here were each of the kids' strengths, their weaknesses, where to improve; and, yes, here was the one she would've picked for the win. that last part was naturally very subjective, and maybe ozzie would go the other way, but as for the rest, she couldn't see his commentary being all that different from hers — he had a good eye for this, if the notes he'd already given were any indication. it was more the task of actually giving them the verdict that might be ... problematic, for him. certainly would be for you. all of a sudden, this little strategy of yours is looking awfully convenient.
she looked to ozzie one last time, chin low, brows lifted. you're up, she mouthed at him, and: it's all good.