Airship's Angel

An angel needs to stretch her wings, but is forbidden to fly. Daily Flash Fiction Contest.

         The airship's restaurant was decked out in brass, silver, and gold. Gears turned and ticked as Victory sashayed into the room. Fluffing her wings, she smiled seductively at her dinner companion across the room. He shuffled nervously and shifted his gaze from hers.
         Satisfied, she strolled across the promenade towards him, the open air rifling through her Neo-Victorian goth garb: a white ruffled dress with cream corset, black utility belt, and high buckled black boots under a maroon jacket that tapered off at her knees. Reaching her new lover, she settled herself gracefully on the seat across from him.
         "Did you get it?"
         "Yes," he whispered.
         "Excellent." Her hand was held out, expectantly. He reached across the space and dropped it in. A brass key.
         "But what do you need it for?" He started.
         "None of your business," she hissed, her wings fluffing irritably.
         He snapped his mouth shut and stood abruptly, walking away.
         "Wait, Gabe, I'm sorry..." It was too late, all she could see was a flash of blue uniform disappearing through the kitchen.
         Sighing, she turned the brass key over in her hand. Her wings ached from disuse. Placing a silver on the table, she stood and hurried to the lift. Inside, she pressed the button for the top and fell against the side of the lift as it climbed. It opened to a corridor, with a locked door at the end.
         Hurrying over, Victory shoved the brass key in and unlocked the door to the roof. Once out, she shed her clothes, basking in the night sky and full moon, spreading her wings she took off, glancing around for that horrid captain, her captor, unaware of the ticking clockwork tracking pin protruding from the nape of her neck.