When You Use A Bird To Write, It's Called 'Tweeting'



Scene Title When You Use A Bird To Write, It's Called 'Tweeting'
Synopsis Emily talks to a tiny visitor.
Date August 30, 2018

Elmhurst, the Fournier-Raith/Epstein Residence

«8:15 am»

Emily's standing on the apartment balcony, head in hands as she rubs the grogginess out of her eyes. It's too early to be awake, after the restless night she had. Too many things to think about to keep her up, and no clear answers for them. 'What do you want to do with your life' type questions that would keep any sane person her age awake, thankfully. Nothing more pressing, at least. She lets out a sigh, palms pressing together with her nose caught in between as she opens her eyes to look out across the street.

More sensing it than really seeing or hearing it, she's suddenly aware she's not alone. Her head turns slightly, gaze blurry, but still able to pick out a hovering green blob in the air. She stares at it, even though the hummingbird's details are still painfully unclear to her. Slipping her nose free, she leans her head back just slightly to say, "Morning, Lee."

She never knew what to call the bird that showed up occasionally, so today, it was Lee. And she always, without fail, greeted it. (She'd long given up on determining if it was a he or a she. The few quick searches she'd done always said females were darker than males, but it wasn't like she had any other hummingbirds to gauge its plumage against.)

It would hang around for a bit, and then be off on its way, off to … wherever birds go, when they're not pestering the odd human for food and affection. At one point, she'd looked into finding and hanging a feeder for it, but no luck yet.

Reaching out with one hand, the bird flutters about her outstretched index finger skeptically as always before it settles into a perch. This morning, it decides to take the opportunity to preen itself for a moment before tilting its head up at her expectantly. She knows from experience if she doesn't give it good pet before letting it go, she's going to be passive-aggressively peeped at until she complies. Not to mention followed. Even indoors. Feisty, needy thing. At least until it would try to fall asleep on her.

The bird was a mysterious reminder of the woman in black, the only thing that let her know she hadn't dreamed up the whole thing encounter up.

'You know… some people believe that hummingbirds are messengers.' she recalls suddenly, and her brow arches slightly at the memory. Details from the moonlit conversation creep back into mind, one comment in particular sticking out: 'If you decide you want to try your hand at something new, I hope you’ll come and find me again.'

She also remembers how Eileen somehow knew her surname, when she'd not provided that information. It's a red flag against her, for sure. A mystery she wonders at, but not as much as she wonders what exactly the woman wanted to offer her. Being at a crossroads about deciding her future, it would be productive to seek her out. Even if she decided against anything immediate, she did have an interest in seeing the Englishwoman again.

But how would she get in touch, anyway? She had no contact information, not even a last name. But… she did have the bird. As silly as that was, there was a chance giving it a message just might turn into something.

She pulls her left hand back to herself so she can stroke the bird gently with the index finger of her right while she leans against the balcony railing with her hip. Together, they listen to the sounds of the world waking up around them while Emily ponders the tiny messenger before her.

The world is full of people who don't mean to be your friend, Em. she warns herself. You don't know shit about this woman. What if she works with Dad? She somehow doubted that, but paranoia often doesn't listen to reason.

Despite her reservations, she lifts the hummingbird up so it's more eye-level with her. "Hey?" she asks it. The bird's entirely uninterested, apparently. It doesn't do a creepy look back at her, or do anything to acknowledge her bid for attention, just seems to notice a few moments later that it's no longer being petted, and begins to ruffle up about it. Yeah, figures. Letting out a snorted breath, she scratches the top of its head with a fingernail one last time.

She feels ridiculous about what she's about to say out loud, figuring she'll be met with the same indifference from the affection-demanding bird. Oh well. At least it'll be out of her system, and she can go back to doing things on the straight and narrow.

"Can you let Eileen know I'd like to grab coffee?"

Looking expectantly at the hummingbird, she waits, skeptical about anything actually happening, even if she hopes for something unusual. She's about to let out a sigh and get on with her morning when suddenly its wings thrum by its side, turning into blurs. The bird's tiny weight on her lifts free, and she's barely able to turn her head to catch the green plumage glimmer in the morning light before the hummingbird is off, disappearing beyond the perception of her blurry vision in an instant.

No way. she almost says out loud, staring off with a blank expression on her face. Does that mean that…? She does a quick look around, wondering if anyone else saw that. Of course no one else did. She's all alone up here, after all.

Emily runs a hand through her hair, pulling it away from her face as she rests her hand on top of her head, staring off for a minute in silence before letting out a quiet, incredulous


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