[ Farrah decides fairly quickly that the stranger is a hallucination. The boy jogging past didn't notice an adult man in full jeanswear sitting on the bleachers, so even if the feathers hadn't been enough of a clue, that could've done it.
Ah well. The most likely explanation is that whatever wires are crossed in his brain that makes him the way he is, has decided to replace the crow with a man. He's probably lucky that it took this long to start messing with his perception. It could be showing him things much worse.]
Wouldn't that- [ He abruptly shifts his volume down to near a whisper, self-conscious and uncertain if he is actually speaking aloud at all.] -risk breaking my hand?
[ Or is that something that happens only in fiction? Farrah takes the container of french fries out of the bag with the rest of his fast-food garbage, and puts it down on the seat nearest to him. He gives a quick nod towards it paired with a glance at the stranger/crow; he's welcome to help himself to them, whatever he is. ]
[ He laughs, loud and hearty, and leans back with his arms behind his head. Despite how loud he is, his presence still goes ignored by everyone else.
He reaches down to take another french fry. ] Only if you do it wrong. You've got to hold your hand like this - [ He makes a fist. ] - With your thumb on the outside. And lead with your knuckles.
[ He mimes throwing a punch, just to demonstrate. ] Or you could wait until your ten-year reunion when you're more successful than all of them, but that's no fun.
[ And most of 'em would be dead by then anyway, but he won't drop that little detail. ]
[ He copies the fist as the man makes it, keeping his hands on his lap so that if anyone notices, hopefully it'll just look like he's got a hand cramp.
A reunion is something he hadn't thought about yet; Farrah makes a disgusted noise to go with his nod of agreement. ]
You are a bird? [ It's a casual ask rather than accusatory or confused. Same as if he as asked, 'Where'd you get that cool jacket?'] Who knows how to punch?
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Ah well. The most likely explanation is that whatever wires are crossed in his brain that makes him the way he is, has decided to replace the crow with a man. He's probably lucky that it took this long to start messing with his perception. It could be showing him things much worse.]
Wouldn't that- [ He abruptly shifts his volume down to near a whisper, self-conscious and uncertain if he is actually speaking aloud at all.] -risk breaking my hand?
[ Or is that something that happens only in fiction? Farrah takes the container of french fries out of the bag with the rest of his fast-food garbage, and puts it down on the seat nearest to him. He gives a quick nod towards it paired with a glance at the stranger/crow; he's welcome to help himself to them, whatever he is. ]
no subject
He reaches down to take another french fry. ] Only if you do it wrong. You've got to hold your hand like this - [ He makes a fist. ] - With your thumb on the outside. And lead with your knuckles.
[ He mimes throwing a punch, just to demonstrate. ] Or you could wait until your ten-year reunion when you're more successful than all of them, but that's no fun.
[ And most of 'em would be dead by then anyway, but he won't drop that little detail. ]
no subject
A reunion is something he hadn't thought about yet; Farrah makes a disgusted noise to go with his nod of agreement. ]
You are a bird? [ It's a casual ask rather than accusatory or confused. Same as if he as asked, 'Where'd you get that cool jacket?'] Who knows how to punch?
no subject
[ But he isn't a bird, and he isn't a man, so his real identity will have to remain a mystery. ]
But everyone, man or bird, should know how to throw a good punch, don't you think?