She did not flinch.
The only real reason she had before was the shock of having someone touch her. There were few moments in her life when someone had been kind with their hands on her body, and she had not expected one of the times to be here, in this cell. True, Vitruvion now had his moments, where he ran his hands through her feathers like a proud father would a child. In those times he had a soft smile placed on his face that spoke of utter delight and satisfaction. Before then, there had been no contact between Stare and her dwarf baker master. And living with the kenku, in a society that was fueled by honour, there was little to no physical contact except for fighting practise. Though loving Stare's mother and father had still been the traditional type and treated her with respect more than anything. Allowing her the chance to initiate physical contact at all times. But never presuming it. Which meant Stare, as Avis, had never sought it, because she had not truly known it.
And now - now his gentle hand was laid over the chain at the back of her head. A tingle of grating and fine metal and the lock that had held the chain so forceably tightly over her eyes fell away. As soon as that was done the kenku furiously rubbed her head against her shoulder, longing the fabric away. Her eyes blinked, hungrily, searching for the light and waiting for it to come. Bit by bit it arrived, feeding the thirsty eyes like a well, allowing them to drink to their heart's content. Furiously she rubbed harder - the millimetres of the reveal slowly coming into her eyes as a thin line of dull light hitting her. But to her it was the bright sun of a midsummer's day and even more desperately she struggled for it, pulling herself a small distance from Nevin.
Ready to buck her head and fling the whole thing up and off.
Eagerly, her eyes drank in the sight.
They were still in the same room as before. About ten foot by ten foot, at the smallest of guesses, with half the room shrouded in a deep shadow. That part she had hidden in for the last few days. The rest, where she was now, was given illumination by a high, barred window set in a stone wall. On three sides of their room there was stone - the fourth having iron railings to stop them from approaching any further. Beyond that was an empty, dark room, possibly another cell, but shrouded mostly in dark also. Stare had not heard anything from that room in the past five days, and she saw a broken door hanging on the hinges. It suggested why Nevin had been stuffed in this cell also. Safely, she assumed that there was no one else here.
Quickly, her eyes adjusted. There was some form of magic that resided in her ability to see beyond what others could that allowed that. It also allowed her to noticed the darker parts of the room clearer than another might - so she could see into the darker corners of the place and actually notice they were completely alone. The door set into the wall, the one that led outside, had a small window itself, but it gave so little light and indication of a person beyond. Carefully, her head movements likely in this time rapid and amusing to one just watching her, she slipped into the beyond-crimson part of the spectrum and found herself able to focus on the heat patterns of the world. Herself, her knees and beak before her with clear, and the cold stone of the room was obvious too. Similarly, the iron bars gave off a powerful coldness in blue, that was directly mirrored by the sight of a lone red man far down the corridor.
So they were safe from interrupters, for now.
And now -
Now she spun around, her hands and feet still tied, her memory of what had happened filling her once more, just as the amazement of being able to see again wore off. Five days, here. Five days, with no Vitruvion. Her cuff, gone. The presence of a powerful mage, likely. Her friend, in the cell also.
Awkwardly she slammed back down, a light ringing filling the room as she did. And her eyes that had been starved of light, likely looked darker than they had ever been with the feathers around them dull and ugly, fed on the sight of her friend. And she filled her lungs and let out the happiest sigh she had in a long time. Red hair. Deep, dark eyes. Young face. It was he. Nevin. The alchemist, in true form, staring at a blood-coloured key in his hand.
She tilted her head.
"What is it?" she asked. "You made a key?"
Then her eyes dropped to the broken padlock on the floor by his feet, that was twisted with a length of rusted chain. Quickly, she fitted the pieces of the problem together.
"Ah. The key was made for that. Hmmm." She tugged on the manacles, and growled under her breath. But she paused, and thought. "Idea. Get the guard from the end of the corridor. He might have keys. Bring him in here and I can finish him off."
