Talk Birdy To Me [Winter]

[Gryphon Matsuoka]

Gryphon was happily improving. Of course, he wasn't perfect yet, but he had the confidence and ability to walk around town a little now (even if still with a stick and at the speed of a slightly athletic tortoise). Because of this, and the decent weather, he had settled his happy little bird-butt on a picnic table with a pretty darn healthy lunch laid out in front of him (plus some french fries from good ol' McDonalds - hey, they covered the carbohydrates and the fat that he needed!) and he was rather content to just watch the world go by as it might, stick propped up beside him.

Occasionally he checked his phone for messages from people (mainly Kodi, but he had friends too), but he mainly just watched the world around him. He spotted multiple birds, and due to his own independent research, he could identify all the ones he had seen so far, but it wasn't like there were hundreds of different types of birds in this neighbourhood. Here, now, he'd seen about five or six different species. Communication hadn't happened because he'd look damn insane, and for now, he was happy on his own anyway. He nommed a little more, crunching into an apple whilst doing a couple stretches under the table for his legs. Gotta keep them moving.

[Winter Rowley]

Contrary to popular belief, Winter Rowley’s favorite part of the lake wasn’t the lake itself. He liked the trees best: tall, skinny pines that towered over everything; broad-trunked oaks with full, round crowns; dense groves of yellow birch with bark that peeled off in curling sheets like tissue paper. He liked to sit in the topmost branches of the tallest tree he could find and watch people mill around below him, blissfully unaware. He watched the picnic tables in particular. That was where the real action happened—birthday parties, romantic dates, family reunions, retirement celebrations. Wherever two or more people gathered at a picnic table, he had found, there was almost certainly going to be food involved.

That was Winter Rowley’s second favorite thing about the Pilot Ridge lake: food, fresh and abundant and preferably unattended. But not everyone was careless, much to his chagrin, and sometimes a crow had to do what a crow had to do. This was especially true any time McDonald’s french fries were involved; his beady little crow eyes could spot that telltale yellow-on-red from a country mile away, and his dignity flew out the proverbial window.

He flew, too: all glossy black feathers and flapping wings, until he reached the nearest picnic table and lit right on the corner edge. He was a big bird, well-manicured and well-fed by any standard. He took a good look at the boy with the french fries and offered him a coo-like rattle by way of greeting.

Hello, that rattle said. I see you have McDonald’s. You must be a McDonald’s fan. I am, too. See? We have so much in common.

He waddled a few steps closer; his talons went click-click on the aging wood.

Now that we’re basically best friends, I think you should feed me.

[Gryphon Matsuoka]

Some birds were dicks. Gryphon had been around them enough to understand basic personalities from different species. Seagulls were thieving meanies. Pigeons were pretty chill. Geese and swans were too proud and selfish. Most smaller birds, like wagtails and tits, they were sweet. They were the most likely ones to help you, if you asked. In their language, of course. Owls were too proud, like most birds of paradise and birds of prey. But he wasn’t concerned with all these different types right now – no, he had noticed a sleek crow in the vicinity. Crows were dicks, similarly to seagulls. He’d gotten into a bad kerfuffle with a crow once, and now he had a small scar on his finger from it. So as long as Mr. Crow kept his distance, Gryph would be happy.

Well, obviously the universe hated him.

The sound caught his attention. It was basically a second language for him. The question was – to respond, or not to respond? “Whatja want?” He asked, in English, yes. He didn’t want to seem insane yet, and he had a mouthful of apple. He swallowed it down as the crow rattled on, rolling his eyes. Of course. His next responses were spoken in similar cooing rattles – but Gryph didn’t speak to crows the often, so the sound edged more on the side of cooing. Like a pigeon with a sore throat.

’I think not. So lazy.’ Another bite of apple. Gryphon narrowed his eyes at the crows, wrapping his arms around his food, ’Get your own.’

His wings ruffled uncomfortably, ’Unless you want to keep trying to convince me. Obviously, you’re an expert.’ With that, Gryph snagged a chip and put it in his mouth teasingly. Hah. Dumb crow.