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“Ugh,” Purple groaned. There was the distinctive sound of frantically flapping wings. “Two days and my wings are itchy again.”
King smirked. He imagined Purple dancing around behind him trying to reach an itch she just couldn’t scratch. He’d already caught her a couple of times rubbing the back of a wing against a corner, then hissing at his guffaws until he took up scratching for her.
“You are going outside with your wings more often, kiddo,” King hummed, not looking up from his newspaper. He turned the page. Interesting; new prosthetic flight feathers from RocketCorp. “Flying, messing about with your wretched little friends, rolling around in the dirt, or whatever else you all do. I’m just surprised you’re not a nest of dirt bunnies more often.”
The newspaper fell as he dropped his hands in surprise at his own bored words. A smile slowly spread across his face. Only a few weeks ago the idea of Purple going outside with her wings on display was preposterous. Now, he didn’t even have to look up to know that despite Purple’s annoyance with her wings, she was no longer hiding them.
She’d made so much progress.
He liked to think- no, he knew- that he was a large part of that progress, no matter how strange it felt to acknowledge it. After Goldenrod he’d never thought he could do something like this again- something like parenting.
Whatdya know. I’m doing it. Samba would be proud, or at least shake her head with a “took you long enough.”
“We don’t roll around in the dirt!” Purple protested. A beat. “Well, the others like to do dust baths sometimes-“ King threw back his head with a barked laugh. “-but they sound awful. Then Red makes them all go dive in some water- ugh.” Purple’s feathers audibly shuddered. “They haven’t wrangled me into one yet.”
“They’ll get you yet,” King said mildly. “They seem to like destroying your prissy sensibilities.” He chuckled.
A gasp. “I’m not prissy-“ King grinned as a tyrian wing smacked him across the head.
“Attacking me now?” King sprung up and whirled, newspaper fluttering to the floor. He flung his fists up.
Purple faced him defiantly. All of her feathers were puffed out adorably, even the little feathers on her face, and her wings spread as if in a threat display. She still came nowhere close to the size of King. She puffed a strand of hair out of her face, but it fell back.
“Come on, starling, back up those little whacks- oof!” He’d forgotten how fast Purple was. She slammed into his chest with only a little weight, but enough mass and energy to send his stumbling back.
King grabbed Purple and attempted to wrangle her like a boxer, but with a couple of mad flaps and her characteristic slipperiness she edged out of his grasp. King squawked and jerked up as Purple sprung onto his back and wrapped an arm around his neck.
He felt a twinge of pain through his back. Oh, that’s gonna hurt later. Unperturbed, and unwilling to stop playing with his daughter, he grabbed Purple’s arm. Purple let out a strangled chirp as King flung her head over heels over his body.
Her wings flailed about like a baby bird’s. She was still clumsy and new to using real wings in a fight as opposed to an elytra, but she was a quick learner and an even harder worker. She quickly threw out her wings to balance herself with an elegant whirl and flap- just as her friends had taught her.
The move from her friends and her former flailing, combined with her excited grin, was so heart-wrenchingly adorable he nearly stopped dead in his tracks to fight back cuteness aggression, surely losing the fight.
He resisted. By the time Purple was on her feet, King was already on her again. He grinned at the panic on her face. He grabbed her arms, yanking her into his chest-
Help! Someone’s attacking me!
Though not an avian himself, panic shot through King. He knew the avian language better than Purple, even. He sprang away from Purple, head already whipping around in confusion and sudden panic at this mystery attacker.
He blinked. Nobody was here.
And Purple wasn’t where she was supposed to be.
That clever little-
Purple grabbed King’s arm and twisted it behind his back. King grunted in pain and wry annoyance at Purple’s clever little tactic. She was merciless.
But King was fast, faster than any of the kids anticipated, and better than Purple at fighting. He twirled, using Purple’s grip on his arm to yank her toward him. Before she could react King threw his arms forward and wrapped her in a bear hug.
Inescapable. Purple’s wings flapped gracelessly as King lifted her off the ground. Her arms were pinned to her sides. The perks of being giant, he guessed.
Then, she went more still. Again, suddenly, the strangled help-me-attacker chirp. This time, though, King was wise to the trick.
“You are a devious little magpie,” King chuckled in Purple’s hair. Just like that, Purple dropped the ‘woe-is-me’ act and resumed struggling in vain against his bear-hug. Her wings flapped fruitlessly.
“It worked once, didn’t it?” Purple huffed, muffled in his shoulder. She banged a hand against King’s arm, signaling the end of the fight.
King chuckled again. He kissed the top of Purple’s head and let her go. She stumbled back, now even more disheveled, her braid falling apart and wings ruffled.
King put his hands on his hips. He smiled as Purple scrubbed at her hair in a semblance of getting it into order. “Still better at fighting than you, for all your tricks,” he said.
“Yeah, but I can still get you to do whatever with a couple chirps,” Purple snarked back. “…Mostly.”
“You could get a lot further if you weren’t so embarrassed to use ‘em, starling. They’re adorable!” King grinned at Purple’s flush. It was true. She got so embarrassed whenever she chirped, but King couldn’t resist it.
“It’s demeaning,” Purple said.
King scoffed. “Oh, come on, kiddo. When have you ever thought about dignity when it comes to getting what you want?”
“Fair point,” Purple said, for once not arguing. She flapped her wings again. “Now I’m even more itchy,” she growled. Absently, petulantly, her wing smacked against the couch in frustration. King smiled at the motion. “And the others are all the way on the PC…” she muttered.
King plopped down on the couch. “Why don’t I preen ‘em?”
Purple blinked at him. “I mean…”
King snorted. “You afraid I’m not gonna be good at it?”
“What, no!” Purple protested. King stared at her. “No, King, I promise-“
“You protest too much. Tyr, I know how you lie now.” King chuckled darkly. “Wish I figured that one out a lot sooner. Would’ve made my life a whole lot easier.”
“I’m not lying,” Purple insisted.
“Alright, then.” King waved a hand. “Come over here, kiddo. Let me preen your wings.”
Purple hesitated. She bit her lip, but dropped it quickly, her only flaw in a perfect mask. She didn’t think he was going to be decent at it, then. He thought as much- she’d been lying since the beginning.
Not that he was surprised by that little fact. Lying was as easy as breathing for Purple. Just like a doctor, though, King learned to deduce the intricacies of that breath, whether it caught or continued easily.
King watched her with an easy smile. It really didn’t matter whether she trusted him to do the job or not. What Purple didn’t know was that King could play her, too- and King wasn’t half-bad at subtlety. All King had to do was play on her pride, trap her into a corner whether she could either refute him and gain King’s ‘ire’ or let it happen.
Was it honorable to use his daughter’s desperate need to do right in his eyes and desperation to not insult him against her? No. Certainly not. He’d felt strange after having that particular revelation, many late nights spent awake and tormenting himself with what he could have done differently. But… the honorable part of King had died with Goldenrod a long time ago, and sometimes a father had to use what he had.
Purple cracked. Like King predicted, she trotted over to the couch and sat heavily down in front of him.
“I’m trusting you,” she warned. “If I end up with cracked feathers and I have to fly through the Nether like this, I’m making you take the lecture from all of my friends.”
“Gladly. Don’t worry, kiddo.” King made a show of cracking his knuckles and shaking out his hands. “I’ve been taking lessons from Red, y’hear? I’m a pro at this.”
Purple rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide her smile. “Whatever, Dad.”
If only she could see the way King’s heart melted every time she said that. King reached forward and ruffled her already-messy hair, making her ugly-squawk in that cute way she hated.
Purple whacked him with a wing. “Alright, alright! Get it over with!”
“Okay, kiddo. Turn around.”
Purple dramatically huffed, but did so. She spread one wing primly. It conveniently hid her flaming red face.
King graciously didn’t tease her for the embarrassment. He instead began to gently run his fingers through the feathers just as Red taught him. First a sweep of the feathers in general, and then sections, focusing more on testing individual feathers and getting grime and dirt out.
Red private told him the first sweep wasn’t usually for any real purpose besides enjoyment for the avian. She’d said that each of her friends simply enjoyed the feeling of someone they trusted petting their feathers, taking care of them. The moment Orange started letting their friends preen them and pet their wings outside of preening was the moment they’d become more than just friends, Red said.
Who was King to deny Purple enjoyment of something she’d denied herself her whole life?
Red was absolutely right. After only a couple of minutes, Purple relaxed. She shifted into a more comfortable position than her straight-backed posture. Her head drooped a little. After a few more minutes her wing actively pressed into his hand, and by her half-closed eyes, without her conscious knowledge.
“You good?” King murmured.
“You’re doing okay,” Purple said primly. Her voice lacked her ordinary bite. King grinned privately and continued.
He marveled at how soft the feathers were. They were silky smooth, underneath the pin feathers down softer than a kitten’s fur. He was enjoying this as much as his daughter, he was sure.
Eventually he forced himself to move onto the actual preening. He picked out the dirt and loose feathers and aligned them. He went slowly and methodically. That was the best way, of course, but he kind of didn’t want this to end. Purple looked sleepy and peaceful, lacking her usual tension.
But alas, all good things ended. King aligned the last feather and pulled back. Purple, lacking the scratches she’d been enjoying, made an annoyed trill.
“I know, I know. But I’m done with this. These look pretty good, if I do say so myself,” King said with a self-satisfied grin. Purple’s wings- the backside, at least- were practically glowing with how vibrant they were, all the feathers neat and orderly. “This is a preen Red would be proud of.”
“Feels like it,” Purple murmured. She stretched like a cat, yawning hugely as her wings spread. A few soft chirps escaped her mouth.
“Wow, are your high standards satisfied?” King chuckled.
“…Remains to be seen,” Purple said. She began to comb through her feathers on the front side of her wings.
King grabbed Purple’s shoulder and tugged her around to face him. “Here, starling. Turn around and I’ll get those too. Maybe then you’ll respect my natural talent.”
Purple’s protest was virtually nonexistent the moment King began combing through the feathers. She immediately leaned forward and buried her face in his chest.
This was an even more comfortable position. King settled his head on Purple’s and took his time combing through the feathers. Purple was warm, fitting perfectly in his arms. She now near-constantly hummed soft birdsong. It rumbled through his chest.
Once upon a time, he wouldn’t have cared whether or not Purple lived or not. Once, he cared, but couldn’t imagine Purple would ever trust him again.
Now, her eyes were closed and body relaxed. Complete and utter, innocent trust.
Eventually, his hand stilled. He stroked the feathers lightly.
“I’m done, kiddo,” he murmured. “How’s it feeling?”
Purple didn’t respond for a moment. She sleepily pushed her head up from his chest. “You’re… done?” she said finally.
“Mhm.” King smiled. He reached up and brushed the loose hair out of her face, hand sliding past the slowly-growing feathers of her cheeks. They were healing up nicely.
“…They feel good.”
“Pff, see? I told you I’d do good, kiddo!” King grinned and leaned forward, knocking his head against hers. Through her tiredness she giggled and shoved playfully at him.
“Had to keep my standards low so you’d actually try,” she snarked.
Then, she stilled. She stared at King for a second. A thoughtful trill left her lips.
He raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t get distracted by how cute that was. “Kid? You alright?
“Turn around,” Purple ordered. She grabbed his shoulders.
King stared at her. “What? Why?”
Purple glared petulantly at him. “Because I have to- I have to… I…” Purple stared dumbly at him.
King bit his the inside of his cheek to avoid the snickers trying to wrench out of his chest. He gently grabbed Purple’s hands and led them away from his back, holding them to his own chest. “Kid- kid, what were you doing?”
“Oh, right. You don’t have wings,” Purple said. She blinked tiredly. “I wanted… I was gonna preen yours. But you don’t, you don’t have wings.”
“I do not have wings. Very astute observation, kiddo.” King couldn’t hide a chuckle. Even delirious, Purple managed to be the sweetest daughter, no matter how much she denied it. “That’s very sweet of you.”
“Just… gonna return the favor.” Purple yawned hugely.
“Guess you’ll just have to pass it on to one of your wretched little friends.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Purple chittered softly and followed him when he pulled back. She nestled her head against his collarbone. Her wings fell gently around the two of them. Slowly, she began to sing. Her chirps weren’t loud, but she sang a soft song that nonetheless had King closing his eyes, trying to memorize the melody in case he never heard it again.
King stayed there for a long moment, drinking in the moment. Only a few times before had King felt such peace. Moments with Samba, twirling in the moonlight, times with Goldenrod, his son dozing in his arms, and now Tyrian. His little starling.
An indescribable, desperate relief washed through him. King’s next breath was shuddery. Water filled his eyes. He bit his lip to avoid disturbing Purple at the sudden rush of intense emotion, a surge of protectiveness and melancholy and joy and love.
He was… happy.
Purple made him so, so happy.
Tears slid down his face. He cried silently for a few minutes. Purple was, thankfully, unperturbed, even as he held her tighter. At the jolt of his chest as he managed to fight back a sob, Purple just made a precious little chrrr and shifted slightly. Her wings folded around King.
She didn’t think she was sweet or caring or kind. King knew better, though. He ran a finger through the impossibly soft feathers. When she thought nobody was looking, or her guard was down, she showed her true colors underneath the years of hard living and bad lessons.
The softness of her feathers soothed him, her warmth and presence simply reassuring as a constant in King’s inconstant existence. Eventually, he calmed himself, his tears drying on his face.
Slowly, careful not to disturb her, he gazed down at his daughter. She was asleep now. Still, soft pieces of melody fell from her lips like a bird’s version of sleep-talking. She was curled up against his chest with a peaceful expression. Her constant tenseness, a result of keeping up her perfect mask, was gone.
He didn’t think he’d ever seen her so relaxed.
“Guess I did get better,” he murmured.
Carefully, Purple sound asleep against his chest, he leaned back until he was settled on the couch laying down. Purple’s wings spread over them like a royal blanket, shimmering in its rich color. King gently brushed Purple’s hair back from her face.
They would be alright.
He would be alright.
And for the first time in years, he could believe it.