Percival's Home for Creatures and Beasts.

A long hall of display cages and tanks, with sorrowful cries of mythical creatures and beasts flooding the air. It was a sick excuse of a museum for the humans, trapping helpless—and non-helpless, if they’re able to—individuals for the visitor's sick pleasure.

Bruce lets out indignant screeches and growls as he thrashes against the humans who managed to wrangle him down. He’d been defending his flock, but ended up captured in the process. He feels rage bubble up inside at the realization he’s incapable of escaping in this scenario.

They’ve chained his wings closed, bound his legs and arms tightly. The metal rubs against his limbs, feathers sticking out in the wrong directions. All he could do was writhe like a damn bruised animal, because that’s all they see him as. A prized creature to display in some golden birdcage.

Apparently, a harpy like him is worth thousands of gold to the humans. Who knew! He wants to tear these damn hunters apart—but he won’t stoop to their level of killing… maybe just a bit of maiming will do when he gets out of here.

The humans throw him into a large cage, bars thick enough to withstand any force he puts on them. The chains on his limbs are unbound, save for the ones on his wings, and he’s shut inside.

The cage is then lifted into the air, causing him to wobble as he struggles to regain his balance. Without his wings able to spread out, he felt uncoordinated and unstable.

Now raised up high, he’s left overlooking the space below. Showed off to the humans who entered the museum.

Bruce’s feathers bristle, lips twitching into a snarl as he finally stands to his feet, talons interlocking with the uncomfortable bars of the cage floor. He examines the cage around him, his frustration increasing at the mocking birdcage look it has to it. Like he was some pet.

There was a small perch, along with goddamn birdseed and some water. He has to bite down on the growl of offense he wants to let out.

With a heavy sigh, he tries to calm himself, running a taloned hand through his hair. No use getting angry if he’s helpless up here. He has a harpy village to get back to and protect, and his flock must be worried out of their mind, already searching for him.

As the dark-feathered harpy stood there, festering in his anger, a sound from behind him caught his attention. Jolting, his feathered ears lower as he whirls around. Only to be met with another harpy locked in here with him, curled up against the bars.

He steps back, eyes narrowing at the other creature. They looked… terrible. Chained wings, unkempt feathers that are dull and dirty. No shape a harpy should be in. How long has this harpy been here? Years, he guesses, judging from the shape they were in.

Bruce is hesitant to speak, not sure whether or not the harpy was as communicative as he was. But he takes a chance.

“Hello?” He prods quietly, chained wings tucked close to his back.