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Zophe sat on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, head tilted back on the back of the cushion. A cigarette dangled from his lips, balanced on his tongue. He didn't know if Angel was willing enough to let herself be knocked from her pedestal. He was hoping for a yes, but he couldn't place his bets on it just yet.

Finishing off his cigarette, he retired for the night and laid in bed. Sleep came easy, and uneventful. When morning arose, he showered, changed, and made himself some breakfast. Just another day. And just like any other day (at least as it had been these past number of days), he picked up something simple for Angel to munch on.

Not that she would. He doubted she really touched her food this time around. He lit up another cigarette---his vice instead of having coffee first thing---and balanced both food and keys as he walked.

Coming to her door, he unlocked it and went inside, shoving his keys back in his pocket. "Morning," was his only greeting he ever gave to her, an so he did it this time as well. Today was a new day. It was surprising she didn't waste food this time. Going up to the cage, Zophe found, to his surprise, that she had touched the food.

Looking through the bars, he lifted a brow questioningly. What brought on this change? Her new desperation? Or Zophe's promise to comply if she wavered first?

Zophe looked at her, her sudden declaration surprising to say in the least. He didn't expect her to offer him such a large prize firsthand. In fact, he didn't really expect her to give him anything at all. She was so obstinate, so stubborn... yet here she was, stating that he had permission to not only touch her, but clip her wings.

Was she really that desperate? Just to get out and do something other than sit there? How funny. Zophe wanted to laugh, though he held back and merely curled the side of his mouth into a smirk. "I see..." he mused, as if to contemplate his options and whether or not he really should comply.

But he knew already that this would be an amusing game. He wouldn't make it easy for her. Though... he would allow some leeway. "Then I shall get the scissors." He pulled out the food tray and put in a little more; he was quite tired of wasting fresh fruit day in and day out when he could instead do crackers and cheese cubes and whatnot that could hold out a little better throughout the day.

When he took the water, he went all the way back to the kitchen and picked up the kitchen scissors. He would've gotten a different pair, if he had ones that either a) were designated to only paper, b) for fabrics only, or c) for hedges. Kitchen scissors were surprisingly sturdy. If unless Angel's own wings were made of iron or something as ridiculously hard to cut, they should do fine.

Putting them in his pocket he first went to his room and picked up a particular "toy" he had invested in long time ago, and came back to the room and put the water back. He closed the door behind him before going to the gate of her cage. "If you so much as try to attack me while I'm unlocking you, I swear you this I won't be kind to you in the least," he warned.

Then he unlocked the gate. He watched her carefully as he opened the door. "Sit here on the edge and give me your feet," he instructed, pointing at the edge of the cage.

If only promises could be trusted. But Zophe lost faith in promises long time ago. ...Long time ago. There was no one now who could truly promise him anything. There was always something there that held the other party from completing their deal. If he saw nothing, if he saw no evidence or proof that their words were genuine, then their words fell on deaf ears.

Angel, though, seemed to be willing to give up her flight---if only temporarily---in order to receive a little freedom. If Zophe said that wasn't surprising, he would be lying. But he was pleased nonetheless that she was succumbing so easily. As she sat there as he instructed, he pulled out a "toy" that he'd long since forgotten he had until just recently.

He couldn't remember why he had them. Maybe they were a gag gift from one of his clients. Whatever the case, he hooked the cuff around her ankle and secured it just tight enough that she couldn't slip it off her foot, but loose enough it didn't restrict the movement of her leg. He did the same with other ankle then get an experimental tug on the long chain connecting either end. Finding it secured, he helped Angel out of the cage and onto her feet.

"Turn around and hold onto the cage," he instructed, then moved behind her to touch one of her wings. He didn't say anything or warn when he was going to cut. He just smoothed out he feathers, found the ones he was looking for, then pulled out the scissors and gave the first snip. He didn't stop there or give her time to react or pull back. He kept going until all the necessary primary feathers were cut. It would've been easier, and probably a little less painful if he used proper wing clippers, but he didn't have one for a "bird" of Angel's size.

When he was done with one wing, he moved onto the other, knowing that it was better to get it all over with so as not to draw out the pain. Even if he was a bastard, years of animal care still kept him gentle when caring for them. Were he licensed, he probably could be an excellent veterinarian or at least an assistant, but certain elements kept him from walking down the normal path of the good and justly.

Once he was done with her other wing, and all the clipped wings were in a pile on the floor, Zophe let Angel go and allowed her a moment to recover from the shock.

If her actions surprised him, it didn't show. In truth, they actually didn't. Zophe silently rolled his eyes and just took his things with him. He left the cage open, as well as the room door as he left. He had less to worry about now that he had her wings clipped and her legs restricted. She could still easily walk with the cuffs on; there was enough give and leeway in the chain to allow her to move as she pleased. But if she wanted to run, she would sooner trip and fall on her face than get a step in.

He went down the hall to the main living area. He placed the scissors on the counter before going around the house and making sure nothing that would lead outside was blatantly open. And to the front and back door, he locked them and took out the keys and hid them in spots near the door so that it wouldn't be too obvious where they were. Then he returned to the kitchen to clean off the bowl he had used to bring Angel food, as well as the scissors to clip her wings. He had to boil some water for the scissors to sanitize them.

After that was done, Zophe went to the living room and balanced his laptop on his lap. He turned on the radio and played some music at a soft volume, then began to work. If Angel wanted to come out, she would come out. If she didn't, then she could just stay in her cage and wallow to her heart's content. It didn't bother him either way. He left her the option to do either with the doors opened. He'd easily spot her if or when she came out.

In the meantime, he had stuff to take care of.

Zophe remained where he was. In the silence of his home, it wasn't hard to detect some kind of sound of movement. But until it proved to be something he needed to look at, he would ignore it for the time being and continue his work. His editor had gotten back with him and his notes were less than pleasing to Zophe's eye. Well fine then.

He busied himself with correcting his mistakes, going through and touching up things here and there on noted scenes that needed some rebuffing and polishing. When he finally got to a rather rough part that even in his opinion needed to be refaced with something new and more catching, he paused and stared at the laptop screen.

After a long silence, he pressed SAVE so that he wouldn't lose his work and set the laptop aside on the cushion next to him. Feet still propped, he shifted and leaned back a little to rest his head against the back of the sofa as he thought. Funny, writing was therapeutic for him. While legally he couldn't commit the crimes he fantasized quite often about, on paper in the convenient world of fiction, he could do whatever he wanted. ...Within reason.

He had a destructive mind and if people knew that some of those horrors he described were actual envisions in his mind that he hoped to one day perform himself, surely someone would cart him off immediately to an asylum to get his head checked. And yet, people were just out there for their own personal thrill.

To his luck, and the distaste of his own manager, he wasn't all that famous. He got on well enough to live decently were he to go without his hobby. However, other people thought and pushed and hoped he could do better. Zophe didn't want that though. Writing was... a hobby, so to say. A hobby that paid. Just as his other hobby paid too. But two completely different manners and circumstances.

Clumsily lighting up a cigarette at this odd 90-degree angle, Zophe remained as he was and blindly shoved away both carton and lighter while he took the first breath. He checked the time and wondered how long it would take for Angel to finally make her appearance. Closing his eyes, he gave a soft sigh. He still had to think carefully about the scene even he himself rejected.

Hearing the soft pad of footsteps, Zophe slowly turned his gaze to the side to see Angel approach him like some innocent, clueless animal in the wild drawn to a foreign creature by mere curiosity. Her wide, doe-like eyes and her shy, kitten-like demeanor and her tiny, mousy voice made him stare silently at her. He tilted his head in her direction somewhat, his brain slowly taking in and recognizing her request.

He glanced over at his laptop and shifted up to move it over to perch on the coffee table. As he leaned forward, he drew the ashtray near him and tapped out the end of the cigarette, smothering it and putting it out.

"Don't like it?" he asked casually.

When he leaned back, he looked at Angel and pointed toward the other couch cushions next to him. Plenty of berth if she didn't want to sit close to him, but not enough to keep him out of reaching distance. He could snatch her in a half-second if she tried to pull a fast one, though he doubted she would. Glancing over at the corner table, he picked up the remote to the stereo and turned it on.

It was only after this he looked back at her one more time, silence reigning between them for the time being.

"That's why it's called a cancer stick," he said quietly, almost muttering it to himself. Seeing her obey and sit down, Zophe shifted slightly to look at her more properly. He could feel her feathers brush lightly against the back of his neck and found it nice despite himself. He always did prefer animals to humans. Even Angel was somewhat better than a human, even though she was mostly human.

Shifting again, he moved his hand back and let the back of his fingers brush over the feathers, knowing they had just recently been "abused" by him and his scissors. As he listened to what she said, her questions and growing curiosity, he found the curl of a smirk working its way onto his lips.

She was right, for the most part. He wouldn't deny her that. "Your value is diminished as a human," he said to her last comment. He didn't look at her face but her wings, watching his hand touch her feathers with a care he would never dare demonstrate on a human, let alone a woman. "You certainly cost quite a bit more with your special features. Easily twice as much as any other rare animal I have caught, cared for, and sold off to various people."

Softly he stroked her, ghosting over the large primary feathers he had to cut in order to allow her this freedom of coming out without being completely chained down. "And yes, you'll probably sit pretty in a cage in the house of whatever master I sell you to." He didn't deny anything. "I doubt it'll be much different from what you were subject to not too long ago. Though I can't say for sure whoever you end up with will be any kinder or crueler than me. I'll be honest with you, I've yet to find you a suitable owner yet. You may rest at ease for now, though I imagine the freedom will be short lived."

Zophe did not falter at her words. In face, he almost wanted to laugh. Freedom... shame... cages... staring... all that crap meant nothing to him. His life had been ruined thoroughly once already. Having it done again would not shatter his spirit. Just embitter him all the more and blacken his heart. Such words against him to soften him up and weasel her way into his "compassionate" heart were useless.

Following her movements quietly with his gaze, he didn't stop her from getting up and leaving, supposedly to go eat. He drew his hand back around the couch to settle beside him. He drew his laptop back into his lap and opened it up to use once more.

She may've pleaded for him not to sell her, but there was no guarantee he'd listen. And what did he care if she wanted to understand him anyway? She was too human for her own good. If only she squawked like a regular avian creature. If only she was just as knowledgeable about the English language as a parrot, then he could better tolerate her lip.

But she was intelligent. And mostly human. If not for the fact this detail would catch her a hefty price, he would be even more irritated by it. Women. Why did they insist on having things their way? Why did the think being doe-eyed and docile in front of a man was going to get them anything? Vile witches. Forked tongued snakes. Wicked through and through. They deserved no pity from him when they were much more cunning and beguiling than he or any male could ever be. And even then men were pathetic for allowing themselves to be hoodwinked by them so easily.

In silence, Zophe continued his work where he left off, miraculously inspired to write something in place of that poor excuse of a scene.

Zophe woke as he normally did that day, and started off the day with a shower and fresh clothes. After that, he went to the living room to prop open his laptop and send off his newly edited work. He would've sent it off last night, but changed his mind on account of being tired and busy with other things. He wanted sleep more than he wanted to send the email, so it was only now that he did it.

After that, he went to the kitchen to make both himself breakfast, as well as Angel. He set it out on the table in the middle, served up on a platter. He didn't bother separating it onto individual plates because he had a different plan for the two of them today.

He picked up the newspaper on his front pathway before making his way to Angel's room. He unlocked the door and stepped in to see if she was up yet. Finding her curled up in the cage, as usual, he went up to the bars and stood before her. "Do you want to come out today?" he asked, looking at her levelly with an expression that gave away nothing.

He already knew what her answer would be, but he wanted to hear it first. And he would let her out so long as she behaved like the last time.

((Nah, that's okay. Actually, I wanted to tell you that I've picked up a busier schedule so my posting rate will be considerably lower.))

Hearing that answer, Zophe shrugged and took it for what it was. If she didn't want to come out, then he wouldn't make her. Fine by him if she wanted to stay where she was. Turning back around, he left the room and locked up after himself. He returned to the kitchen and helped himself to the food that was waiting there.

The amount that was left over was wrapped up and put in the fridge for safe keeping and so it wouldn't spoil. Who knew when it would be eaten next? After cleaning up after himself, he busied himself for a couple hours before changing clothes and leaving the house. It had been a while since he last hunted, and now was a good time as any to give it another try.

Since he was pretty sure that Angel wouldn't cause a fuss while at home, Zophe took his time. He traveled out to secluded places where unusual animals tended to linger. For some reason there was this particular spot where exceptionally rare animals liked to be. He wasn't all that sure why, but planned on taking advantage of it again.

For hours on end, he went around and tried to lure in an animal. It seemed he wouldn't get one, until at last, towards the evening, and the tempt of food was high, a Mexican Wolf wandered through. It was on the lean side, which meant it was hungry, and sure enough, at the smell of meat, it snapped the trap and fell into tangles. Snarling and growling, writhing and fighting against the confines, it tried to get out, but Zophe tipped it into the cage.

He waited until the wolf tired itself out before lugging it back to his SUV and putting it in the truck. This certain subspecies of wolf was nearly extinct. If Zophe fixed it up a bit, made it a little more docile, then sent it off, he would surely get a big price for it. Scientists would want to clone this animal. Wolf lovers might want its pelt. Who knew. Who cared. Point was, he got it, no one else did, and now he could do with it as he pleased.

At least this wolf didn't have the ability to speak. Didn't have a human face either. Nothing humanistic about it. Zophe could treat it in any manner he wanted, and not feel so constricted otherwise because it was intelligent enough to speak in human tongue.

Driving back home, Zophe parked in the garage to avoid any suspicious looks cast his way by anyone wandering down the street on feet or car or otherwise, and carried the cage into the house. He didn't know if he wanted to put it in Angel's room---what else could he call it?---just yet, so he left the animal get used to the house first.

While it was still a little tired out, Zophe knew he would have to risk another scar upon his person so he could untangle the animal from the trap. He dawned gloves before carefully opening up and reaching in. The fight that met him, the snarl, the agitated twisting and growling, were all expected. Zophe flinched as teeth snapped at him and bit at his hand, but tried not to let his discomfort show. These animals always did love the satisfaction of knowing what they did got a rise out of their opponent or prey.

Zophe clenched his teeth and continued to wrestle with the wolf, trying to be as careful as possible as he handled it. It was hard, though. And surely the noise could be heard as the cage smacked against the tiles on the floor. When fangs finally bit into his arm, and threatened to tear at the muscles underneath, he bit back a scream, knowing such injuries would be noticeable later on.

Choking on the noise, he let the canine hold onto him and chomp down harder as he worked the last of the trap off. Then, when it was out of the way, he snatched the wolf and forced it to let him go. Only after that did he retreat and lock up the cage once more. Blood dripped on the floor and he scowled at it. He pushed up to his feet and quickly made his way to the bathroom before the initial shock wore off and he became too woozy to function.

He pushed his arm under the faucet and cleaned the wound with soap and water. The slow but evident lack of feeling in his legs made him aware that his mind was finally registering the loss of blood. Biting his lip to keep himself focused, he dried off with a towel and then cleaned the wounds again, this time with antiseptic, and then started to wrap it.

He had to sit down by now because his legs were starting to tremble. He didn't want to suddenly fall over and hit his head on something, so he sat and dressed his wounds as best he could with only one arm useful. When he was done, he had to lean against the wall and take a few moments to rest. He was lethargic and in pain. The painkillers were in the cupboard, but he didn't really want to move to get it.

"Jesus fuck..." he muttered and took to resting there a little while longer. It was probably time for him to feed Angel already, maybe even past that time, but he wasn't going anywhere right now. Sighing to himself, Zophe just remained where he was, staring blankly at the opposite wall as he slowly, slowly recovered. At least he didn't have to get a rabies shot; that already happened not too long ago, so he was all set this time around. But damn, he was hoping he wouldn't get bitten again this time. Apparently his hopes were for naught.