Copper Pickle's bodyguards had been well versed in his background and known tendencies. They knew he wasn't used to being part of a rich and powerful empire, much less the last of its bloodline and figurehead.
They were even prepared to deal with an aerial escape attempt. They weren't quite as prepared for a predawn aerial attempt that was not preceded by screaming, as Copper carefully gagged himself before ripping out one of his eyes and shoving in the demon eye he normally kept in a jar, balancing the abrupt colour of his demon wing with another splash of red. It was just a reminder, he told his staff. Two demons tried to kill him, and it would have been unfair to only take a trophy from one.
It convinced his staff. It also allowed him to be in the air and halfway across the city before a loyal bodyguard panicked because there were no life signs coming from his (temporary, while real estate shopping happened) bedchamber.
Finally, he had a bit of freedom. Sure, they could probably track his phone... but just in case, he'd left that on his bed with a big note cheerily telling everyone that he just needed a little solitude and fresh air at the same time. And so he went flying, no longer awkward with his mismatched wings, until the sun rose.
Somewhere after that, with the city still grey and rosy and early, he found himself in an alleyway far from the rich and pretty part of town. It was grimy and dingy and very badly lit and it was wonderfully familiar. It was also empty, and no one had shown up to nag him yet, so he was going to enjoy it. What was the worst that could happen? Maybe he'd have a nap and get his snazzy fancy vest thing dirty. Not that there was much to get dirty; between the holes for his arms, head, and wings, there wasn't honestly a huge amount of material (and certainly not enough to justify the price tag, but his tutor-hirelings insisted).
They were even prepared to deal with an aerial escape attempt. They weren't quite as prepared for a predawn aerial attempt that was not preceded by screaming, as Copper carefully gagged himself before ripping out one of his eyes and shoving in the demon eye he normally kept in a jar, balancing the abrupt colour of his demon wing with another splash of red. It was just a reminder, he told his staff. Two demons tried to kill him, and it would have been unfair to only take a trophy from one.
It convinced his staff. It also allowed him to be in the air and halfway across the city before a loyal bodyguard panicked because there were no life signs coming from his (temporary, while real estate shopping happened) bedchamber.
Finally, he had a bit of freedom. Sure, they could probably track his phone... but just in case, he'd left that on his bed with a big note cheerily telling everyone that he just needed a little solitude and fresh air at the same time. And so he went flying, no longer awkward with his mismatched wings, until the sun rose.
Somewhere after that, with the city still grey and rosy and early, he found himself in an alleyway far from the rich and pretty part of town. It was grimy and dingy and very badly lit and it was wonderfully familiar. It was also empty, and no one had shown up to nag him yet, so he was going to enjoy it. What was the worst that could happen? Maybe he'd have a nap and get his snazzy fancy vest thing dirty. Not that there was much to get dirty; between the holes for his arms, head, and wings, there wasn't honestly a huge amount of material (and certainly not enough to justify the price tag, but his tutor-hirelings insisted).