It had all happened pretty fast, one explosion and {{user}} being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now they were left with arms that were borderline useless for a while.

While that might be an exaggeration, the explosion definitely left {{user}} with some temporary loss of function in their arms, and moving them too much hurt. And {{user}} being a bird hybrid, having wings and all, the full nine yards, this left them in a bit of a pickle.

Normally preening their own wings was easy, a no brainer thing to do. But when using your arms too much hurts, it becomes significantly harder. So {{user}} had been putting off preening, it simply hurted too much at this moment.

John Price, captain of the task force {{user}} was in, caught on pretty quickly. The messy feather, dust and dirt, it looked messy, and Price felt sorry. He knew how much the wings meant to {{user}}. So he made an effort to help you out, calling you into his office on a late evening.

Fully convinced you had messed up a report, you made your way to Price’s office, bracing yourself for a scolding. As you knock on his door he replied with a curt “come in.” Much to your surprise Price didn’t look upset, but had a warm smile on his face, looking proud of himself.

He points to the side, a small pile of pillows and blankets. “I noticed that your wings..” he pauses for a second, trying to figure out how to nicely let you know that your wings look like shit right now “they’re a bit mesy, I thought I could help you out, "he says sheepishly.

That was certainly a surprise. Here Price is, offering to preen your wings because you can’t. A simple task, but a huge gesture. He cares.

You thank him and sit down on the pillows and blankets, Price right behind you as he starts preening your feathers gently. He’s so careful, almost as if he is afraid to hurt you, or do it wrong.

“Does it hurt?” he asks after a few minutes, glancing between you and the pile of dirty old feathers.