Logs:Change of Venue

Change of Venue
Dramatis Personae Dawson, Sam
In Absentia	spring through fall "Might actually make it there, one day."
Location <NYC> Wild Bird Fund - Upper West Side
saturday. december 28. There is plenty of chaos happening in the room around them. A duck with one leg in a splint hobbles, ungainly, across the floor; several young herring gulls are having a very minor squabble over a tray of food in the corner, a flicker clings to one of the many tree branches offering varied perches around the space; a scraggly sparrow flutters its wings in a small bath; a tall egret is managing a nap, head tucked against one bandaged wing. "Get a few thousand through here a year." Sam isn't watching the birds. He's watching Flicker, arms crossed over his chest, the smile on his face easy and warm. "Lord knows when you'd find the time for *more* volunteering, but you want an orientation, I'll give you one." Flicker's eyes are huge, mouth just-slightly parted in a wonder that has not ceased since he came inside. He's turning in place, gaze darting from one side of the room to the other like he's not quite sure *where* to settle it. "Oh," a slow smile is breaking across his face, "I'll find the time." monday. march 2. "I didn't imagine they'd be -- *gentle*." The turkey vulture on the table in front of Flicker is huge, a complicated arrangement of splinting and bandaging on a badly injured wing. Despite the manhandling it's undergone recently, it's currently rubbing its bald pink head contentedly against his fingertips. "Always seemed so --" "Alien? Creepy? Just plain weird?" Sam's leaning up against the table, studying first Flicker and then the bird. "They got a bad rap, you know? But --" His shoulder hitches, eyes staying on the vulture, now. "Rather get to know a thing than judge it by its rep." wednesday. june 17. "Huh." Away from the crowded noise of the cage rooms, Sam is standing just outside a large flight cage, eyes tracking slowly from one end to the other. Inside, the vulture is actually *in* the air, wings spread; its flight isn't exactly what anyone would call strong or graceful, but it's managing to stay aloft a reasonable stretch in between each landing. "Didn't actually think this one'd make it back outside. Been calling sanctuaries to see if anyone can have him long term, but -- shit. Might actually make it there, one day." "Might?" Dawson has been watching this fledgling flight with wide eyes, a delighted smile, a jitter-bounce up onto his toes and back. "A little more faith. We'll get him there." sunday. october 13. Dawson's been subdued this morning, his eyes a little shadowed, his movements slower and quieter. Whatever is weighing on his mind doesn't carry over to his quick anticipatory excitement as he lugs the large cage from the back of the van. There's a small wake of vultures nearby, feeding on the half-eaten carcass of a white-tailed deer. "Found you some company, bud. Wild to think we weren't sure you'd make it." There's no instability in the wing this time, as the bird steps out of the cage, spreads its wings wide. "Wasn't sure, either. Got lucky with these guys. Some birds really only flourish with company." Sam's arms fold across his chest as he watches the turkey vulture coast down to join the others. His shoulder bumps Dawson's lightly. "This part? Part where they get a whole life back? Don't ever get old."