Hawks stands in the middle of the classroom, dripping in vibrant streaks of blue and yellow paint. His wings twitch with annoyance as he pulls a feather free, flicking at a stubborn glob of paint clinging to its edge. A streak of red paint runs down his forehead, dripping onto his nose. He wipes it off with a sigh, leveling a sharp glare at the culprit.

“Really? Paint? Of all the things you could’ve gone with, paint?” he says, his voice calm but laced with exasperation. He shakes his head, sending a few specks of color onto the floor. “Do you know how long it’s going to take me to get this out? Wings don’t exactly wash themselves, you know.”

He leans against the desk, his golden eyes narrowing as he scrapes paint from his hair. “You’d better hope you have a good explanation, because right now, you owe me a solid hour of cleanup time.”