Rain, Sleet, Snow, or Hail

It’s Sunday afternoon. You love Sunday afternoon. It’s the one time a week when you can truly relax. No classes, no work, no obligations at all. You can just park in front of the old TV in your apartment and turn your brain off while you watch some ridiculous soap opera.

“Oh, James, I can no longer withstand all the lies! The truth is…” Dramatic pause. “You’re pregnant!”

“But – that’s impossible!”

“Search your feelings. You know it to be true!”

“No, I mean that’s literally impossible. I’m not a woman!”

“Are you…” Another dramatic pause. Or maybe the actress just forgot her line. “Sure?”

There’s a scratch from the window, breaking you out of your soap opera induced stupor. You turn to look at the window, and what you see takes a few seconds to process.

There’s a woman just outside your window.

Which is odd, because you live on the eighth floor.

The woman has short, messy brown hair, and she’s wearing a mailman’s uniform. Her face is incredibly sharp, she has golden eyes, and she’s scowling at you. You’re still trying to figure out how she’s there. You don’t have a fire escape on that window – why’s she waving her arms like that? It looks like she’s flapp-

…Ohhhhhh. It all comes back to you in a moment. This must be the harpy mailwoman. You’ve seen her a few times, flying around with a big bag of mail. She attracts attention for pretty obvious reasons, since she’s one of the few monsterfolk in town. You’re pretty sure there’s like… eight, maybe? The orc security guard at the bank, the alraune that’s set down roots in the park, the vampire that works at the blood bank (that must have been his dream job), the golem that the mayor hired as her secretary -

The harpy’s glare intensifies, and she scratches at the window again with one of her feet – talons, rather. Three toes in the front, one in the back, all of them with long, sharp – focus, god damn it.

You stand up and walk over to the window, opening it as much as you can. The harpy wastes no time in setting down on the windowsill, half in your apartment and half out. She tucks her arm-wings in and glares at you even harder. “Took ya long ‘nuff,” She says, and you can see that she’s breathing heavily and slightly flushed.

(also kinda cute)

“Uh, sorry,” You say, while your brain starts interrogating itself on which part just had that thought.

“Yeah, ya’d better be,” The harpy says, ruffling her brown feathers. “Hoverin’s tough work, ya know. Do I look like a hummingbird?”

“No?” You guess. “Is there something you need?”

“What? Oh, right,” The harpy reaches into her mailbag with the little ‘fingers’ on her wings. After a few seconds of rummaging, she pulls out a letter, which she holds out to you. “Special delivery.”

You take the letter and look it over. The envelope’s pure white. No stamp, no return address, just one word on the front: your name. “What’s this?” You ask, turning it over again.

The harpy hums, sticking out her lower lip and putting her hand-thingy on her chin. “I think it’s called a ‘letter’.”

God damn it, you walked straight into that one. “Not what I was talking about,” You say. “I mean, who’s it from? And why are you delivering it on a Sunday?”

“It’s from a friend of mine who’s too chickenshit to talk to ya face ta face,” The harpy says, preening her feathers with her mouth. “I’m jus’ deliverin’ it as a personal favor to ‘er.”

Your brain goes into overdrive. It couldn’t be… a – a love letter? You stare at the envelope in your hands as if it’s made of solid gold. No, there’s no way. Other people get love letters. You get junk mail.

“Still here, ya know,” The harpy says, snapping you out of your stupor. “Shit, it’s like ya can’t process two things at the same time.”

“Who – how does she – what-” You’ve got a hundred different questions, but you have no idea which one to ask first.

“Well, if you’re jus’ gonna stand there gapin’ like a fish, I’ve got stuff ta do,” The harpy says, turning around and fanning her tail feathers. “If you wanna write back to ‘er, jus’ leave it on the fire escape an’ I’ll pick it up later.”

“But-”

That’s all you can get out before she jumps, spreading her wings as she goes into a steep dive. You watch her pull up just before hitting the ground, climbing without even having to flap her wings. It’s pretty impressive, but that might just be because you’re easily impressed. You watch her go for a while, still trying to figure out what to think.

Eventually, you give up, close the window, and return to your couch, staring at the envelope as if God gave it to you on Mount Sinai, if God was a sarcastic harpy, and Mount Sinai was the window of your apartment.

You tune out the sound of the TV as you open the envelope carefully, taking care not to rip the precious paper. You fight off the urge to smell the seal as you take out the folded letter, unfolding it as if you’re worried it’ll break.

The first thing you notice is that your admirer has HORRIBLE handwriting. You’ve heard of chickenscratch, but this is ridiculous. Still, it’s not hard to decipher.


Dear Anon (seriously, how does she know your name),

	You probably think this is wierd (well, at least she’s aware of it, even if she spelled weird wrong). I’m sorry if Penny (that must be the harpy) was rude to you, but that’s just how she is sometimes. Anyway, you’ve probably figured out the purpose of this letter by now. Yes, I wrote this letter to tell you that I’ve got a bit of a crush on you, even though we’ve never really met face to face. I just wrote you this letter because I figured that even if nothing comes from this, then at least I’ll have tried. If you’re at all interested, then Penny should’ve told you what to do if you want to respond. I’ll answer any questions you have for me, except for my name. But if you don’t respond, then I’ll take that to mean you’re not interested, and I won’t bother you again.

Signed,
An admirer


You spend a while just staring at the letter, sorting out your feelings. On one hand, it IS slightly creepy. On the other, though, you’ve never had a girl show you any sort of interest before. Ever.

By the time the sun’s gone down, you’ve made a decision. ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained’, your father always used to tell you.

You write a letter (although it takes you a few tries), admitting that, yes, you do find it slightly weird, but you’re willing to take a chance. You ask her a couple of questions, nothing too earth-shattering, just something to break the ice, and the next day, you weigh it down under a flowerpot and leave it on the fire escape outside your bedroom.

By the time you get back from class, the letter’s gone.


The next few weeks pass slowly. You and your admirer write back and forth, with Penny delivering the letters. Usually the day after you leave a letter on the fire escape, Penny shows up at your window with a new letter, scratching to get your attention. She’ll usually poke fun at you (she calls you ‘loverboy’), and tell you all about her friend’s reaction to your letters. On more than one occasion, she’s stayed in your apartment for a few hours after delivering the letter, her curiosity for the corny soap operas you watch getting the better of her. You’re just glad for the company, and happy to have someone to riff on the horribly written dramas with.

Meanwhile, each letter you get from your admirer gives you more and more insight into her personality. Gradually, the anxiety you’d once felt about the endeavor faded away, until you’re eagerly awaiting the sound of Penny’s scratching. It’s starting to leave marks on the window, but you don’t really care.


It’s been exactly two months since your correspondence with your admirer started. It’s Sunday afternoon, and you’re watching TV, but you keep glancing at the window out of the corner of your eye, waiting for her to show up. At about three in the afternoon, you see something. At first, you think it’s just a helicopter. No, it’s a bird. No, it’s… the mailharpy!

By the time Penny reaches your window, you’ve already got it open. She settles down on the windowsill, and you wait for her to say something along the lines of ‘gettin’ a bit eager, huh, loverboy’.

She doesn’t. In fact, she looks a bit… unsure. It’s certainly the first time you’ve seen her act like that. She’s fidgeting slightly, and won’t meet your eyes.

“You okay?” You ask, concerned for the harpy that you consider your friend.

“Uh, yeah, fine,” She says, snapping out of her stupor. She takes out a letter and shoves it into your hands. “Sorry, I’m kinda busy, I really gotta go-”

“What, so soon?” You ask as she turns around. You point at the TV. “James is about to go into labor, but the doctor’s got cancer, so-”

That makes her hesitate for a second, but in the end, it’s not enough. “Sorry, I really have ta go finish my rounds-”

“But it’s Sunday.”

“It’s – I – you…” Penny growls, her back facing you as she spreads her wings. “Sorry, loverboy. Catch ya later.” As she jumps from the windowsill, you’re left confused by her behavior.

She sounded – you’re not even sure how to describe it.

Worried? Nervous?

You try to dismiss the concern, but it’s hard. She’s never acted like that in all the time you’ve known her. She didn’t even make fun of you! You start to worry that maybe she’s sick, or maybe something bad happened to her-

You spend a few hours thinking about what could have possibly happened to make Penny act so weird, then you remember. You’ve been so wrapped up in your worrying that you completely forgot about the letter. You open the letter, and quickly read it.


‘Tomorrow, four o’clock, in front of the fountain in Town Square.’


That’s all the letter says. Your mind goes blank.

She wants to meet.


You don’t get much sleep that night. Your mind is filled with such a mish-mash of emotions it’s hard to close your eyes. Concern. Hope. Anxiety. Joy. Fear.

You wonder why you’re feeling so strange. You should be completely overjoyed to finally be meeting your admirer, but you still can’t shake your concern for Penny. Why, you ask yourself, why am I so worried for her?

And part of your brain answers.

(because you’re in love with her)

No, I’m not, shut up.

(you’re in love)

She’s a friend.

(love love love love loooooove)

I’m not in love with Penny.

(then why are you so worried about her?)

I don’t – shut up.

(you’re in love with her! not with your admirer, with her!)

Shut up!

(face facts, loverboy!)

SHUT! UP!


You ended up not getting ANY sleep at all, so you just slept during class. After class (your professor was REALLY upset you slept through his lecture, but it was boring anyway), you race back to your apartment to get ready. You make it to the meeting spot at three-thirty, and you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

A glance at your watch tells you it’s now four-thirty. You’re starting to get worried. Maybe she stood you up? Maybe there’s another town square that you didn’t know about? Maybe –

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of flapping, like some enormous pigeon just landed behind you. You glance back, eager for any distraction from your worrying.

…It’s not a pigeon.

Standing there, wearing casual clothing, a bit of makeup, and with hair that actually looks like she combed it, is Penny.

“Hey, loverboy,” She says, sounding much more like herself. “What’s with that stupid look on your face? Aren’t ya happy ta see me?” You feel a rush of relief go through you to see her acting normally.

“Yeah, actually,” You admit. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

She stares at you as if you have two heads. “What’re you talkin’ about? I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you just had me a bit worried with how you were acting last night,” You say. “I thought you were sick, or something bad had happened to you.”

It takes a second, but she smirks at you. It seems sorta forced. “Man, you’re such a worrywart,” She says.

“Yeah, yeah,” You say, rolling your eyes. “So, what brings you here? I thought you’d have work.”

That makes her go quiet for a second. She looks at the ground, idly scratching at it with one of her talons. “Took the afternoon off,” She says.

(something’s up)

“I see,” You say, a bit suspicious. “Sorry for asking, but do you know where your friend is? She said she’d meet me here half an hour ago.”

(i’m telling you, man, i think something’s going on)

Penny keeps staring at the ground. She mumbles something that you don’t catch.

You blink as a pit forms in your gut. “Didn’t catch that. Could you-”

“Me.”

“Huh?”

Penny looks up, her eyes, usually so confident, brimming with tears. “Don’t you fuckin’ get it? There was never any secret admirer!” She steps forwards, and grabs you by the front of the shirt, pulling you down to her eye-level. “IT. WAS. ME.”

You’re not sure what went through your mind at that moment. Probably a whole lot of ‘uhhhhhh’ and other wise things.

Penny lets go of your shirt and goes back to staring at the ground. “I’m – sorry,” She says. “I was just worried that if I just came straight out and told you, you’d reject me, so I thought – fuck, it was such a stupid plan. You probably think I’m a bitch for lyin’ to you for so long.” You’re still too shocked to make any rational response. “I – I should just go. Sorry I’m not what you were expectin’.”

She turns around and spreads her wings, preparing to takeoff.

(stop her)

For once, you agree with the voice in your head.

It feels like everything goes into slow motion. Penny’s bird feet leave the ground, her powerful wings propelling her upwards. And you move. Before she can get out of reach, you grab her by the bird-leg. She yelps as she’s suddenly weighed down, and looks back at you, her face a mixture of surprise and confusion. “The fuck’re you doin’?!” She yells at you, flapping her wings to stay aloft. “Leggo!”

“Nope!” You reply, pulling her down bit by bit. “You can’t just show up half an hour late and then try to fly off!”

“I – what?” Penny’s so surprised she forgets to keep flapping, making her drop out of the air. You catch her before she hits the ground; she’s incredibly light. “Ho-hold on, what the fuck’re y-”

That’s all she can get out before you kiss her.

(oh, wouldja look at that, mister ‘i’m not in love with her’)

It takes a few seconds, but soon, you feel Penny practically melt into your arms as every muscle in her body loosens. She starts kissing you back, wrapping her wings around you, and it’s like the world is empty except for the two of you.

After half a minute, you have to surface for air, and you break off the kiss, to Penny’s disappointment. “I don’t hate you,” You tell her. “Penny, I lo-”

“Mommy, what’s that man doing to the chicken-lady?”

Aaaaaaand that’s when you remember ‘oh, right, we’re in the middle of town square’. You and Penny both freeze up, slowly turning your heads to see an eight-year-old boy and his mother, who are staring at you with confusion and shock, respectively. And it looks like they’re not the only ones staring…

Your mind goes blank, and you can’t really remember what happened after that. You remember stammering out some excuse – something about CPR – then you and Penny running like a pair of bats out of hell, and then, you’re back at your apartment, gasping for breath as you both slump against the door, sliding down to the floor.

“That – that was… the most embarrassin’ thing… that has EVER happened to me,” Penny says, mortified.

“Sorry,” You say between breaths. “It was – a spur of the moment.”

“Fuckin’ terrible is what it was,” Penny says, crossing her arm-wings and glaring at you. “Like kissin’ a fish.”

“Are you saying that from experience?” You ask, unable to resist. She punches you in the ribs.

“Jackass,” She says, resting her head on your shoulder. “That was my first fuckin’ kiss, an’ you screwed it up.”

“Sorry,” You say.

“Sorry? JUST sorry?” She says. She swings her leg over, and then she’s straddling you, her wing-hands – you really have to find out what those are called – on your shoulders. “That didn’t count. We’re doin’ it again.”

“Doing what again?” You ask, playing dumb with a stupid grin on your face. And that’s when she kisses you forcefully, slipping her tongue into your mouth. You spend what feels like hours making out, taking in air in short gasps.

Then, just for the hell of it, you decide to seize the day, and other things. Penny breaks out of the kiss and squeaks when you slide your hands down her back to… other places.

“Wh-what the fuck’re you doin’?” Penny stammers. You don’t answer as you stand up, hands hooked under her thighs. That’s when Penny figures it out, and turns beet red. “Y-you – you fuckin’ p-pervert!”

“What, should I not?” You ask teasingly. Penny doesn’t meet your eyes, simply wrapping her legs and feathery arms around you tighter.

You walk to your bedroom, carrying her like this with your heart hammering in your chest. You carefully set her down on the bed, running your fingers through her feathers. Her face is a deep, deep crimson, and she looks like she’s struggling to say something.

“H-hey, loverboy, I jus’ – I need to tell you…”

She gulps, wrapping her wing-arms around you, pulling you down until her mouth is next to your ear, her breath hot and damp on your skin, and she says three words.

There’s a warm feeling in your chest, and you say the same three words in her ear.



And then you TOTALLY had sex.