Crawford vs Kant for Wake Drabble Meme

Crawford sat in us usual spot on the couch, leaning against the arm. V had left some time earlier and that annoying kid with the affinity for fire seemed to vanish when V wasn't around. So he assumed himself alone. And because of such an assumption, he abandoned his book in favor of something more fulfilling. On his lap rested his most favored creation. The first thing he managed to Bend, and the thing he used most often. Already, it was showing the wear of being handled, looking well loved. He twisted pegs and rubbed his thumb over strings until it delivered the most accurate sound possible.

Carefully, he settled his fingers along the neck as he pulled the instrument closer. Then, after a moment's hesitation, his fingers began to move. With grace and precision seemingly impossible for fingers so thick and rough, he began to pull a soft melody from the wooden body. Far more gentler than one might expect. Not from a pre-existing song, but one he'd created on his own. One heard by no ears but his.

As he played, he heard something. A strange almost echo of the song itself. He stopped and listened hard. Nothing.

Picking up the song where he'd left off, the music filled the gallery once more. But within a few bars, the echo picked back up. And he stopped. A few notes later, the echo ceased as well. His head twisted this way and that, but couldn't see anyone or anything which could cause it.

"Hello?" He called out.

No response.

Shrugging, he moved back to play again. But this time, movement caught his eye.

A mechanical bird perched on the back of the couch at the other end. Keeping his eye on it, Crawford gave the guitar a vicious strum. The bird answered with a similar sound. Glaring, he turned the rough sound into something else, twisting it to be the tune he'd created for the song he'd written some months past.

Civil War.

The bird just stared at him as he played, its small head tilted to one side. The song halted and Crawford was about to mock the thing for not responding. But before the final note even faded, the bird began to sing again. It repeated what had just been played.

"That's MY song!" he roared.

Setting the guitar on the table, he rose to his feet slowly. Looking more like a bear trying to mimic a cat, he crept toward the tiny robotic thing as it sang. His hand came up and he made a lunge for it.

He only got a face full of couch cushion as the bird flew off and his hand missed its mark. It landed atop the suit of armor and picked up the song once more.

Growling in frustration, Crawford climbed over the couch and made another grab for the bird. But he only succeeded in knocking the armor to the floor and sending the bird into the air. It landed again, and repeated the song once more.

"I'll make you pay you stupid little robot!" He growled and went after it again. This time, it spread its wings and kept to the air. Not watching where he was going, Crawford made wild grabs for the creature, his fingers never quite reaching it. He left destruction in his wake, knocking paintings off the walls, knocking over small tables, and even managed to knock the couch on its back after he tripped on the coffee table.

That is where it ended, with him sprawled across the fallen couch, one arm trapped under him and his legs tangled up with the table. He felt something on his head. There was no wondering what had fallen on him when he heard the sound so close to his ear. That song. His song, repeated by that infernal mechanical tormentor.

Grumbling he just let his forehead press to the floor.

There was no winning with these things.