Among everyone else in the Black Rose Guild, no one probably loved to travel more than Tomás. He was a curious soul, always wanting to see the sights and wonders of the world with his own eyes...if those sights happened to include beautiful women (or men, depending on his mood), then it was certainly a plus. At one point or another, before he was a bird, he had a passport from his homeland. It had been a simple thing: a small leather book with his information and a couple pages for various officials to stamp when he came to a port or land crossing; but, then a former girlfriend had turned him into the colorful bird that he was now and disposed of his travel documents, likely thinking that he wouldn't be needing them anymore. It was a funny thought that a bird would be needing his own passport instead of stowing away with someone as pet, but the toucan was a hair too proud to stoop that low. Thus far, however, his quest to get a new passport was going nowhere so far; he had been wandering about trying to find an empty office that he could bother, but every single one seemed to be busy. On top of not having any empty lines, it seemed as though everyone was either intent on cutting in front of him or didn't notice his presence due to his current stature. Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours as he slowly made his way through one of the numerous crowds of people looking to get a passport. Soon enough, the street lamps started to come on as the sun faded and night time came; he was fast asleep by the door by the time someone from inside was yelling "Next."
The call was repeated again, and once more before the toucan finally realized that he was next in line. Hopping up, the bird flapped his way into the office, promptly planting himself on the back of the chair infront of the receptionist's desk. The lady that sat in front of him had seen better days, to say the least. Her grey hair was slicked into some kind of a spike, and she had two or three chins. Her lips were pudgy and painted with a horrendous shade of red lipstick, and her glasses were tear drop shaped. Before the bird could even get a word in about why he was there, the crone said in a reedy and nasal voice, "Let me guess: you want a passport."
Tomas nodded, deciding to keep his mouth shut unless she needed information--it would be unfortunate to be denied the document because of a lame joke, after all. With her expression unchanged, the old crone sighed and reached under her desk. "Normally we don't issue passports to birds," she said, making the toucan twitch with annoyance, "But, I've seen all sorts of characters today, so I'll make an exception for you." With a grunt, the old woman pulled up a stack of papers that was easily 200 pages long; the bird's beak dropped wide open. "This is the amount of paper work I would normally have you read through and sign to get you your passport," she said, "But, since we're about to close in the next ten minutes, I'll just put you on a list that says you don't need to fill any of the signatures or initials, save for the front page." She pulled the front page off before taking the stack and dropping it on the floor next to her desk. Curious, the bird hopped up on the desk to inspect it. The form was simple, really: name, date of birth, place of birth, guild affiliation, and address (if different from the guild headquarters). He felt his beak being tapped with a pen, and upon looking up to see the woman's face becoming a bit irrate, he quickly filled it out, holding the pen in his beak.
As soon as the pen stopped moving, the receptionist took up the form and gave it a scrutinizing look. "Thank you," she said, rather unpleasantly, "If it gets approved, it will arrive in the mail within four to seven business days. Now, scram."
With a nervous gulp, the toucan turned around and hopped onto the back of the chair before pushing himself off and flying out the door. "¡Qué puta!" he grumbled to himself, landing on a tree nearby to try and find his bearings a little bit--after being stuck in line all day, he had forgot where in town he was....
(Translation: "July 17th" (Date of birth), "What a bitch!" )
The call was repeated again, and once more before the toucan finally realized that he was next in line. Hopping up, the bird flapped his way into the office, promptly planting himself on the back of the chair infront of the receptionist's desk. The lady that sat in front of him had seen better days, to say the least. Her grey hair was slicked into some kind of a spike, and she had two or three chins. Her lips were pudgy and painted with a horrendous shade of red lipstick, and her glasses were tear drop shaped. Before the bird could even get a word in about why he was there, the crone said in a reedy and nasal voice, "Let me guess: you want a passport."
Tomas nodded, deciding to keep his mouth shut unless she needed information--it would be unfortunate to be denied the document because of a lame joke, after all. With her expression unchanged, the old crone sighed and reached under her desk. "Normally we don't issue passports to birds," she said, making the toucan twitch with annoyance, "But, I've seen all sorts of characters today, so I'll make an exception for you." With a grunt, the old woman pulled up a stack of papers that was easily 200 pages long; the bird's beak dropped wide open. "This is the amount of paper work I would normally have you read through and sign to get you your passport," she said, "But, since we're about to close in the next ten minutes, I'll just put you on a list that says you don't need to fill any of the signatures or initials, save for the front page." She pulled the front page off before taking the stack and dropping it on the floor next to her desk. Curious, the bird hopped up on the desk to inspect it. The form was simple, really: name, date of birth, place of birth, guild affiliation, and address (if different from the guild headquarters). He felt his beak being tapped with a pen, and upon looking up to see the woman's face becoming a bit irrate, he quickly filled it out, holding the pen in his beak.
Name: Tomás Íbañez
Date of Birth: El diecisiete de julio
Place of birth: (unintelligiable chicken scratch)
Guild Affiliation: The Black Rose Guild
Address: N/A
As soon as the pen stopped moving, the receptionist took up the form and gave it a scrutinizing look. "Thank you," she said, rather unpleasantly, "If it gets approved, it will arrive in the mail within four to seven business days. Now, scram."
With a nervous gulp, the toucan turned around and hopped onto the back of the chair before pushing himself off and flying out the door. "¡Qué puta!" he grumbled to himself, landing on a tree nearby to try and find his bearings a little bit--after being stuck in line all day, he had forgot where in town he was....
(Translation: "July 17th" (Date of birth), "What a bitch!" )
