Chapter Text
there’s a pigeon in the office.
it’s 8:37am. apollo has just walked in. mr wright is absent, as per usual. trucy is lounging on the client sofa scrolling through her phone. there is a pigeon napping on top of the filing cabinet.
trucy, he starts. stops. tries to figure out what he wants to ask. starts again. trucy, is the pigeon supposed to be there?
what? she replies, dragging her attention away from-- from whatever the new tiktok is. apollo doesn’t know. he’s a 24 year old lawyer, he fell out of touch like, 4 video platforms ago.
the pigeon, he says, waving at the pigeon. it hasn’t so much as stirred. is that intentional?
she blinks. once, twice. oh, no, yeah. probably.
“probably”?
well, i don’t think he’d have perched up there by accident, she says, as if that were a perfectly sensible response. good vantage point, maybe.
i-- trucy, just confirm for me that’s one of your magician birds and didn’t just, i don’t know, wander in off the street or something?
sometimes, she says, half-distracted by a cat video. when the hire birds don’t really get the tricks.
som -- y'know what? sure. fine. alright. the part-time pigeon lives there today. i’m not going to ask what it does the rest of the time. i’m not.