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[sub][sup][b][color=6A5ACD]INTERACTIONS:[/COLOR][/B] Haven, [@Skai][/sup][/sub][/right][hr]When the bus arrived for Fritz and whoever this other girl was - so pale that he was semi-convinced she was another street-cleaner sweep up, though he denied himself the notion of kinship - he finally came to realize that this mystery tour from his familiar haunts, through a courtroom, bounced across several holding cells of steadily-increasing quality yet uniform purpose, to being quietly-yet-firmly escorted through three separate flight transfers was nearing its promised end. It had taken several weeks to arrive at this precipice; and yet, it wasn't until Fritz was seated at the front of the bus, surreptitiously swiveling his head to scan the other passengers and suddenly noticing that the girl sat beside him had [i]wings[/i], that it really hit him that despite all expectations, this hadn't simply been an elaborate ruse to relocate him and his particular brand of 'problem' and 'statistics' to another city's municipality.

This is all to say that Fritz remained in something of a stupefied fugue for the majority of the remaining commute to Alcatraz, occasionally surfacing only to acknowledge and file away some new oddity. A native off the rez. A boy made of stone. An otter. He was certain that each and every one of them, sat like sardines in a tin with wheels, hid qualities that only a select few were forced to wear in the open. For his part, Fritz clenched and flexed his fist repeatedly, fingers aching for a familiar blade that had been permanently severed from his personage some handful of months previously. He wasn't sure what he missed more: the reliable access to his self-taught abilities, his first and last line of offense and defense alike, or the only tangible item he'd ever truly considered his own singular possession. He fixed his gaze on the notebook held by the girl sat at the front, plotting on how to obtain even a single page. It would do for now. 

The bus gave way to a slow, supervised shuffle, gave way to a ferry, gave way to more shuffling. Fritz had failed to attain a page while disembarking either the bus or the ferry, and now he was on-alert and it was out-of-mind; instead, he focused on absorbing his new surroundings and supervisors, as well as his erstwhile peers. He pondered their natures, both psychological and metaphysical, musing which of either would serve the best purpose to him. The wings were of particular interest; not only did they offer a tantalizing degree of freedom, but each feather, with its pointed quill, was another avenue for Fritz' own personal talents. A useful early ally in all respects; all he needed was the angle of approach, and that would reveal itself simply enough, given time. 

His study was interrupted by a lecture that Fritz found put his hackles up and set his teeth on edge, its hollow, well-rehearsed welcomes and honey-coated warnings all-too-familiar to the boy who had heard the same sickly spiel from scores of fosters and would-be guardians. He rolled his eyes, letting his vision glaze over as he resolved to simply drift in absent thought until they would be finally left to their own devices. 

Although, if Dwayne 'The Pebble' Fuckface and his cheerleader pining for a time out of style 70 years ago at its conception had their way, it would appear they'd all be on whatever Aegis' equivalent of the naughty step was; or more likely, in Fritz' known experience, the empty pantry cupboard with the burnt-out bulb and lock on the [i]other[/i] side of the door. Even the otter seemed to approve of the juvenile display. Fritz still found it outlandish that an otter was even among them inferring what behaviour it did and didn't approve of. 

His fingers itched. He'd lived several years forced to wear eyes on the back of his head and sleep too lightly to actually rest. He could tell himself there were no immediate threats all he liked; instinct refused to let him forget he was surrounded by strangers, every last one representing their own unique and unknown potential, and had been forcibly left bereft of his sole line of defense. He felt painfully vulnerable. He eyed the winged girl, feathered wings partially splayed as she took the opportunity to stretch out after the cramped journey. 

He moved before thinking about it, and if he [i]had[/i] thought about it, he wouldn't have done it, but this wasn't Fritz operating on thought; this was Fritz operating on barely-restrained, permanently-etched fight-or-flight. 

It was so easy. His hand reached out and took the calamus of an outer-edge feather firmly between thumb and forefinger, and yanked sharply down. The feather gave slight resistance at the tug, but came free nonetheless, and it quickly moved to his right hand and got palmed, the quill's point protruding out and seeming to glisten in the light. 

Haven, for her part, did not fail to notice the intrusion, yelping sharply as she felt the feather rip out with a painful and unpleasant 'pop'. Wheeling round, fist already raised and drawn back, she paused only momentarily as she locked eyes with Fritz and recognized an uncomfortable familiarity with the coming violence, as well as an equally-disturbing feral eagerness. Her eyes flitted to the feather in his hand, proffered upwards in a clenched fist like a shiv. 

She didn't have time to land the punch. A shout went up from one of the observing guards. 
[b]"[u]EDGE![/u]"[/b]
And then Fritz seized as the prongs of a tazer lodged in his back and he tipped forwards, feather dropped and quickly kicked away as the same guard approached with a zip tie, quickly and carefully slipping it around Fritz' wrists as the shock-induced shudders subsided. Shortly thereafter, Fritz was up, sat on his arse on the floor, hands restrained behind his back and cursing himself for his moronic impulse, and cursing himself again for giving into it.  

Haven, from her standing point, gave him a quick slap across the back of the skull, which everyone - Fritz included - surmised he probably deserved.