Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cold. Cold and familiar. The river rushing over Grians skin felt. He always enjoyed going down to the river and let it flow over him , Stinging yet lovely.

He never understood why he loved it. He would lay in the water on his back in the low river and let the water  swim over his bare skin. He would let his wings be spread, free and wet. He never understood why he liked it so because afterwards he hated the wet feeling.

It made his feathers stick together and heavy, his eyelashes felt cold and his hair felt gross and full of mud.

But in the moment, it felt,  As if , the heavens opened for just a second and God let his golden rays of sun lay on his chest, and mother nature was there sitting next to him , whispering as the wind.
He felt the rocks try and carve their secrets into his skin.

It felt like his worries all melted away. His fears, his hole in his soul sealed.

Then something always came to bring it to a horrid, soggy end.

"Grian! Grian!" Said a voice far off, at least, it was at the start. Soon it grew closer, yelling his name, "Grian!" It gasped and wheezed. Grian tried to ignore it. Staring into the sky. "Grian, are you there? Hello! Oh goodness , haven't you got two working ears?"
"Whaaat,, on this terrible earth do you waaaant?" Grian moaned, dragging his 'a's out far to much as he sat up , suddenly remembering how heavy the water made him feel.

"Grian! I saw just the oddest thing! Bullet, on fire! Blazing through the wind! And, to top it off, I went on search for it, and *found* it! I mean, why would you set that on *fire?* "  The man said, waving a bullet that he was carrying that Grian hadent seen beforehand , It looked quite burned, but still in quite good shape. I mean, it was a bullet.

The man overly excited over a meat bullet was Mumbo. A vampire who is only a couple of years older than Grian, they have known each other since Grian was only eleven, and Mumbo was around thirteen. He wore a stunning embroidered Waistcoat and his stockings were red, how fancy. His buckles on his shoes had jewel embedded in them, his shoes black and pointy toed.

"Oh, yay. Great, maybe you could sell it for a shining gold coin!" The winged man said, rolling his eyes. "You think?" "No, Mumbo , not in the slightest. " He said, slowly standing up , suddenly he felt like a boulder was placed on his shoulders, his wet wings dragged on the rivers rocks. the blacks and purples of the feathers glistening in the sunlight.

Mumbo always liked the way his feathers were colored like a ravens in some places, but in others purple , like amethyst in a deep cave on the underside. He was fascinated by the way when grian spread them the back the feathers had such lovely shades of lilac and lavender and formed a picture of two staring eyes. Like a moths wings, they wondered, they watched.

Grian saw it as only another reason he was a freak. A monster, beast, to be hunted and his wings cut off and stuffed to be displayed in some snobby rich mans hunting display. He could almost imagine it, that was how he was going to end, pathetic and prey. That's how he saw it anyways. He wanted to pluck every feather one by one and be cursed to the ground as punishment for being born. He decided, that was fit for him. He never got to fly much anyways, in fear of being shot down. As much as he says he doesn't care for his life, even he knows this is a lie, subconsciously. But he is stubborn, and will not realize this. He will not say it.

Mumbo always worried for him in that way. He loved his friend and it hurt him to see how much the his own body and self made him ill.

Mumbo saw Grians undershirt thrown sloppily in the dirt near the low river , he picked it up by the shoulders and dusted it off.

"Oh, I'm horriblly sorry."
He folded it and put it hanging on a low branch.
"For?"
"Interrupting you and your river. You don't need to stop. I won't bother you anymore."

Grian stood silent. He stared at the leaves in the trees, swinging and dancing. The light hitting them just perfect to make the greens into yellows and limes.

"Oh, Mumbo. Join me, why don't you? Your burden me none."

In that moment, The others eyes shone and a grin was painted on his pale skin.

He unbuckled his shoes and took off his stockings,  and sat in the river, dipping his feet in.

Grian had already laid back down in the water when he saw the other.

"Oh, that's not how you do it. Do you have feathers in your head? Do as I do!" He said sitting up, he began to crawl over to Mumbo and tug him into the water with a splash.

The feathered laughed and so did his company.

"Oh, my brand new waistcoat! Wet! You crow!" The one who , coincidentally , had hair as black as a crow laughed.

"Well, there's a reason I'm only in my breeches! Ha!"
Grian chuckled.
"I do not understand why you do that. Your practically naked!"
"*Am not!* I have my trousers on and that's quite enough."
"Wait until the press hears! Oh, 'man in his breeches in the river', it will be all over the streets!"
Mumbo gasped dramatically, waving his hands about, the man can never sit still.

"I've heard of men who skinny dip in their rivers. I'm far better. And you know no one has the slightest knowledge you or I exist. And, this is barely a river. A creek, if you will."
He countered.

"No, do not lie to me! This is a river but it is a low river.  You know it doesn't quite rain hard in this area. " He said rolling his eyes and sitting up.

For a moment, everything stopped.
Mumbo's words stopped.
So did Grians.
And his eyes gazed at the sky.

So did Mumbos. He thought about how the clouds looked like shapes.

Grian looked at the clouds and remembered what it was like to fly up in the big blue.
The wind in his hair, his feathers. Nobody there but him. Alone. In the sky. Oh, how he wished for it back.

And so, how he also wished to be normal. To roam the streets and talk with other normal gentlemen, not be confined to the woods. Though Mumbo was great company, he wished for more, as every persons  heart does.

"Mumbo, what do you wish for most?"

His tall friend stopped in his track of thought.

So many things, to be human. To not have fangs as if he was *made* to kill. Maybe he was. Maybe he was dangerous like they all said.

"A pure black full bottomed wig. Similar to King Louis'. From all those years ago, so horrible its gone out of fashion."
He said instead.

"Ugh, Mumbo, so.. materialistic! Must you have no dreams? Oh, and how infashionable. Yes, I've made a word up for how i would describe it. It's much more popular to powder your *natural* hair."

Grian rolled his eyes with a grin on his face. if he was honest, he enjoyed to stay on a light topic. Not worry over dreams that never will come to become reality.

"Oh, you! When have you cared for what's 'fashionable'? You don't even wear topcoats! You barely wear waist coats and your hardly wear shoes! You don't act like a animal and-" Grian put a wet hand over the others mouth.

"Oh, your hurting me, please, do not talk of me like that!" He dramatically wave the other hand over his forehead, grinning still.

He removed his hand when he felt the other warm teeth started to dragging into his skin.

"Ughh, your vampire instincts are at it again!"
He said, being a tease.
"I have none of the sort! Liar! That was only to get you to move your filthy claws off my handsome face! Not to draw blood, I am not like my brothers. You know this." Mumbo said, suddenly a sad look upon his features.

"Oh, Mum. Don't sorrow. I was only poking fun."

Mum was a name he made up for the other on the first day they met.

He remembers it like it was only yesterday.

It was a warm night. humid and dark.

Grian was freezing, in trousers he found a while ago and a mud stained shirt he wore. Freezing from the river water he had been in for hours. Oh wait, let me begin further back. He had been living outside for 4 years now.

Unless you also count the few weeks he lived when he first hatched.

When he was just hatched (yes. Hatched. Out of a egg.) he looked like a purple chick. Beak and feathers and all the ugliness that came with being a baby bird.

A man , a long hunter, was gone to hunt.

He found the chick under a tree in his hunting. He nearly stepped on the bird, he heard a high pitched chirp, "Oh!", he looked down underneath his soles, He saw how purple it shined and believed it to very rare. He thought, just then,

"I could raise it. I could skin it's hide and sell it, and eat the meat. Birds don't take long to raise, as any animal. Right?"

He knew something was wrong when it took a years for it to grow, and when it did it started to look more human. More like something with soul. With heart.

Growing to a baby's height and loosing many feathers, skin showing. little nubs growing that soon should be arms. Crying, like a baby child and less like a baby bird.

After three long years of confusion and regret it had grown, and grown, and soon, he was but a fully human toddler! With , of course, wings and tail feathers, black and purple.

He soon became fond of the creature. He was learning to speak, and, his eyes shone blackish purple.

"I'll call him Grian, it's a good name for something like him."
He told his wife, holding the bird-child in his arms.

"Oh, you've found a freak of nature ! Must you still care for it? Pick out a name for it?" Said the hunters wife.
"He's like a son to me now, I'm afraid."
Said he.

By the time he was six he could talk, semi full sentences, goodbyes and hellos. "smart fellow!" Praised the man Grian remembered being held by the long hunter.

He remembered touching his face and feeling his mustache. His eyes looking down at him in all their brown glory.

He could see so many things in the eyes of his 'father'
He saw mud. He saw bear fur, and Cocoa beans.
He saw love. He saw warmth. Comfort. He felt it in how he was held by him, rocking him slowly.

He remembered touching the rough edges of his collar, and of his hunters shirt. Feeling how worn it was. How many years had his father had it? Would he bear it one day? Maybe him, and his father could hunt together. Maybe he would be just like him.

All that faded when suddenly he was taken from the warmth that was this long hunter.

One night the mans wife stormed into the attic that Grian lived in. "Pack your bag. "

He put in nothing but the small knife his father hid in the attic Grian wasn't supposed to know about
It was her.

He remembered the blacks and browns and purples of the mud, of the trees, suddenly turned into hands, claws. Everything looked discolored in the night. The screams of bugs, screaming, "Freak! Even us insects won't welcome you!" In their ringing noise, the cracking of sticks under his bare feet.

The water pouring on him.

The way his wings felt heavy, the way he felt alone.

The moon looked down at him, almost saying, "pitiful creature. " And turning her back as the further away from the farm he ran and stumbled the more the trees covered her face.

The more his pants got covered in mud and his shirt stained with tears and rain. And, probably, mud.
He tried to fly, but his wings were wet, heavy, useless  pieces of meat attached to his back and protruding through his shirt.

"Papa!" He cried.

It had been three winters since his home was taken from him. But he learned to live outside.

He hunted mice and ate them raw.

He put his shirt and trousers in the river to clean and put them to dry for a day every month.

They were beginning to shrink, or maybe he was growing, he couldn't tell. Good thing they were too big when he got them.

His schedule had been the same for 4 years. He sometimes would fly, but only at night. When the hunters and men from the city weren't about.

But today, he decided different.

The sun hit his face just right. It made him feel just great, his clothes had just dried and he wore them proudly. His wings were colored in the sun just right, he thought. His hair must of looked lovely today, he thought, because today was a good day. He thought.

He decided he would climb a tree, just to get a good view.

He steadily put his hands on the branches , and pulled up, soon his feet followed.

The bark under his hands felt rough, but familiar, almost friendly. Father like.

Everything felt father like since that rainy night. He didn't have a father, he learned thatt night, so the trees would do.

Brown, with shades of green and grey.
Fungus and who-knows-whats , tangling vines growing wherever it wished, dancing and running along the trees skin. Painting a beautiful picture on the bark.
Branches extending for him to hold, as if they were saying, "hold unto me, I will keep you from falling." And they did.

They held like the man that found him.
The almost-a-father.

He sat on a branch, he was quite high up. He could see alot from this high. He could see the small pound he washed his clothes at. He could see a small river cutting just right near it. He wondered if he would go one day. It seemed high today, much higher than he ever viewed.

The wind flew through him, like a song.

And suddenly, he was flying.

Okay, well maybe it wasn't the wind or the way the birds sang , or the way the moss on the branch hugged him or any other *magical* thing he made up that made that *magically* happen, maybe, just maybe, he stood up and took off, despite his mind yelling at him, screaming, "no! Grian, no!"

But whatever the cause, he was off!

He felt a million feet tall! Possibly from the height he had flown into, Oh, but still, he felt great! Better than great, fantastic, Oh! Just the best since the mustached farmers wife had-

BANG.

Thats all he could hear as something sharp and hard pierced his wing, digging into his wing. Suddenly, his wing felt numb, and stopped working.

Screaming, falling, the way his stomach turned. He way the wind that came from falling felt violent and cutting unlike the wind that came from flying as he was.

He felt like it was the cold night all over again, he hit a river, hard.

The crack of landing hard into water was heard, the splashing of a struggling animal seen.

He didnt know how to swim, his maybe-maybe-not-father never had the chance, no, he never chose to teach him to swim. he felt helpless, he kicked, he screamed, he panicked, a father would've told him not to panic. To calm, a father would've taught him to swim. water filled his lungs, his screams turned into bubbles, bubbles started surfacing.

He flapped, he flailed, he realized this wasn't working. struggling, eventually he made it up, by doing a odd kick crawl movement. With such a gasp he started crawling to the surface. His hands clawed into the dirt and stubbed on the small rocks, cutting into him. just so only a bit of blood surfaced, mixing with the freshwater on his palms.

He laid on the ground, it becoming soaked as he struggled atop of the dirt.

He held his wings tight to himself as he rolled over and cough up so much water he was sure he wouldn't be able to cry for days. It felt like all the water in his body was leaving him.

He choked, and made horrible noises.

Eventually, he could breath again, finally, there was space in his lungs.

He gasped, large and loud breathes filled the air. Tears escaped his eyes, I guess he did have some left in him.
He sat there. Still. For only a moment.

His wing started working again, but it pained horrible. Moving made it worse, so much more. So he let them lay flat on the grass. The red blood from his wing mixing into the green grass, soaking down into the soil.

That moment became a hour, and that hour became a night, and soon, he was asleep soaked and weak, and bleeding into earth.

Mumbo had recently turned thirteen. And yes, Mumbo was growing a mustache at thirteen. It was coming along to. Do not judge him.

But that's besides the point, He also recently left his family. That night of his birthday, actually. He decided he would not be like them. After his mother told him that she would soon train him to hunt humans just like her mother had taught her.

what he heard, "I will force you into a never ending cycle of murder and guilt. And blood, and cries of death. Your ears will ring for the rest of your days and your eyes will become dry from the tears that will come to you from the guilt."

At least, that's how he felt at the thought of ending another soul-bearing persons life for his own gain.

He wasn't like that. He may have been born a vampire but his heart was that of a man.

He didn't like their ways of hostility, violence. He didn't want to hurt someone with a brain and a heart, just for the red that flows within them.

That was not how he was gonna be. No. He was not like them.

He ran, he packed his bags and ran faster than ever. in that warm night of summer. He hated the heat. He ran, what felt like forever. He had a plan. Build his own house, like pioneering men he heard of, and survive off of deer blood. Easy.

He packed his mothers's wood cutting axe (for making his hut), his own clothes and shoes (for himself), one of his mothers ladies self defense rifles (for how small it was), a dagger from his mama (for hunting), 250 pounds he stole from his mama (she's in much more debt for how many she has killed anyways. It's only fair.), some medical supplies (bandages and stuff to clean wounds) and some ink, quill, and paper (he was very much a lover of drawing.)

It fit in only two bags. He packed tight and only what he deemed needed.

Maybe he didn't need all those different buckles or sleeve links .. maybe he only need one pair of each.

Maybe he didn't need *all* his waist coats.. or his over coats and hats..

It was fine. They would all fit in the hut. When he build it. Which he knew how. Right? Yeah. Yeah.

Well, now he needed to leave. Run. Never return. Maybe he could cut his pointed ears and live like a English gentleman. Yeah. But not now. He had to live.

He ran for what felt like hours, at this point it was more of a brisk walk, the night was disorienting and dark. He stumbled a few times, he gotten some cuts and bruises, but he decided he was far enough when his knees started to buckle beneath him. He sat at a river, he could see anything but the reflecting water in the moon light. He dropped his two bags and sat down.

He lay now in the grass and let out a sigh of relief. He let his tired body lay down.

But, then he smelled something. Something that made his senses catch on fire and his mind worry.

*Blood*. That of a human.. well.. it didn't smell just like a humans. But similar. Almost like a bird.

He sat up and crawled closer to it. He could faintly see something.. a younger looked boy.. no, a younger looking.. creature? It had wings, how odd. He smelt the blood coming from one of the wings.

The vampire in him told him to bite into the helpless child and suck his wing dry.

The man in him told him to help him.

And so he crawled back and grabbed his bag with the medical supplies in it.

He cleaned and wrapped the wound the best he could in moonlight.

After, he laid back down, a few feet away from the bird.. boy .

In the morning, Grian felt a lot better. He sat up, and looked at his hurt wing, expecting a blood dried ugly mess, he saw a bandage. and then he looked next to him.

Startled, is how he would describe it. Maybe outright confused.

There was a man next to him. He looked possibly in his late teens, maybe older, he did have a mustache. he thought. He must've bandaged him up, he was sure.

He shook his shoulders "Sir! Sir! Wake up!"

"Huh...what?.."

"Hello? Sir? Did you bandage me? Mister?"

The vampire rubbed his eyes. "Ehm.. yes, but please, don't call me mister, or sir."

"Why mister- I mean, Why?"

"I'm not much older than you I'm sure. How old are you, boy?"

"Eleven."

"Why, I'm only thirteen." That shocked Grian , growing a mustache at thirteen. Huh. That mustache was almost familiar.

Kind of like.. someone he knew.

His wanna-be-father.

He was kind like him too..

He bandaged his wing and spoke to him kindly,
Reminded him of his-

"Hello? Tell me, what's your name?"

"Oh, it's Grian. Sorry."

"No need. I'm Mumbo."

"Mumbo? Like.. Mum?"

"Huh. I guess so."

"Well, thank you mighty much for helping me, Mum."

And that's how they met. Soon, Mumbo was building his hut, and Grian was tucked under his metaphorical wing.

Hours into days, days into months months into years. They stayed together. Mumbo sneaked into the city for goods, and Grian hunted for blood and food.

Life was good. Great.

It would be for a bit , anyways.

Chapter Text

Scar kneeled on the shards of glass. Poking and pointing into his bare knees.
This always happened when he had done something bad. His father always did this.

"Now don't you move a muscle. I'll make sure you'll be crying if you do." His father snapped at him, only a few feet away, watching from his chair.

"Yes, Father."

He was hardly a father. Scar had a real father , but he left when he was barely a child, and his mother died and this man was his new father.

He never liked his fathers punishments, they were far too creative and painful.
they lasted too long and scarred his skin, why couldn't he just give him a licking? A stern talking too? Maybe lock him up for a month or something?

No, it had to be shards of glass and scarring strikes with sharp objects.

Well, the second only happened once. And when it did, he remembered.
A scar laid upon his face just so he would.

Scar was eighteen, and still his father kept him.

"You can't leave. Family sticks together, you hear me?"
"Yes, yes I do."

Mumbo and Grian were out in the berry bushes a quite bit right of the river.

"Mmhmmm! Umbo! thes are o guuhd!" Grian mumbled, stuffing his mouth full of wild blackberries.

"Oh, Grian. Your making a mess." Mumbo said, which was true. Grians lower face was fully covered with blackberry mess.

"Ugh! Shhu 'p!" He said, starting to stuffing blackberries down his navy blue waist coat as his pockets were full.
"Grian. Don't you dare ruin your brand new clothing I just bought you. Please, Oh, Please! " He said grabbing the shorter mans hand full of berries.

" Fine. Wher wo'd yew sssupos' I pu' th'm?" Grian said sloppily, snapping his hand back.

"Leave them. We can come back. We are going, this much berries and you will suffer a stomach ache."

" NOOOO!!"

Grian wailed as Mumbo dragged him back.

"Your seventeen and act like you're seven I can't with you!"

And so, Grian was dragged back wailing the whole way.

Grian was putting away the berries when mumbo walked into the might-not-might-fall-on-top-of-them-both hut he had built so many years ago.

"I think I may head out for a bit. Need more stuff from the market."
"Okay. I'll be in the river after I finish with these berries."

His father told him to stand after a hour or so. His knees had started to bruise and bleed.

"Clean that mess up."
"Yes, sir."
He took the broom and swept up the cyans and reds that were sitting on the ground.

He dumped them into a small hole in the ground he dug before, and covered it with the soil he had originally dug out.
He was sure if anybody dug up the yard they would find a thousand glass shards, all tainted with dried blood.
"Hurry with your cleaning, you are going on a hunt today. I don't like to wait."
"Yes, sir."

His family was odd , they had a odd obsession with hunting mythical beasts and monsters. It started when Scars great-great-grandfather found a bunch of old scrolls and such of monsters and beasts*his* grandfather had hunted.

Ever since then, the family has been devout monster hunters.
Scar had his own copy of the writings, "as every son of this family should." Said his father.
Soon, after his adoptive sister helped him bandage his wounds he was off, with his father.

"You think we will find anything today, Father?"

"Shh, quiet."
His father never liked talking to Scar. Or doing anything that wasn't hunting with Scar, Or training to hunt. Maybe going into town and buying new hunting supplies every so months with him. maybe he would get to go.
Scar didn't get to be like normal young men, he didn't get to go anywhere without permission of his father, he didn't get schooling.

"Why would you need to write? Or learn math? You only need to learn to hunt. No! Do not even try! you do not need fancy schools or fancy friends. Me and your sister are all you will ever need. How ungrateful! Now eat your dinner, and shut it. Lord, have mercy!"
Was what his father said last night when he asked again.

So Scar decided not to ask until his father was very much in a good mood.

They crouched in the leafy greens and beet reds of the plants he didn't know the name of. Maybe he would if he had schooling. No, he shouldn't even think of it.

They were in the bushes for what felt like forever.
"Point your gun higher."
"Don't shake."
"Keep your hand on the trigger, who knows when a beast will come."
Said Scars father.
"Yes, sir."
"Sorry, sir."
"Yes, father."
Said Scar.

Suddenly , scar saw something red in the distance, something black, white and red. That stood on two legs, too far to tell what it was.

"Father, I see something in the distance."
He pointed to what he was staring at.
"Yes son! Looks like some beast!"
"Do I shoot?"
"Shoot to kill."
"Yes, sir!"
He set the inside of his gun alight and aimed, and shot.

Mumbo was trekking his way to the town he knew the most good for goods. (No pun intended)
He was wearing his new red matching breeches, waistcoat and topcoat.
And a nice red hat.
He hummed to himself a song he heard once in that very town.

He had about 25 pounds and was mildy excited. He felt a bit tired, he needed to wake up. it was almost noon, he worried he'd seem rude if he was acting sluggish.
That was the least of his worries.

Suddenly, and without any warning, and bullet traveled into his arm in an instant.
He screamed in pain.
It hurt his throat, as he fell to his knees.
The bullet wasn't just normal, it was on fire.
It burned his skin but didn't spread, the red flame stopped quickly, but did leave him with a blistering burn.
He shut his mouth with a pale hand.
he stood up, and grabbed hold of his left forearm.
Well, that surely woke him up.

Scars eyes widened at the noise he heard.
His grip on his gun faltering.

That sounded like a man.
A man who had just been shot.
By his bullet.
Suddenly it seemed hard to breathe.

"I don't think that was a beast."
His eyes stayed where he saw the "beast", his hand wondering , looking for something to grab.
His hand found his father's shirt.

Subconsciously, we wished his father would comfort him in his fear and shock. He wished his father would cradle him like he was a child. A father's comfort, something he lacked since his real father left those many years ago.

Obviously, he knew that would never happen. That's why he only thought it subconsciously, really, he didn't know why he grabbed him.

His eyes started to feel blurry and wet.
"Sir, that didn't sound like a beast!"
Suddenly, he felt a firm grip on his wrist, pulling it from his father. It felt course and rough.

He didn't remember what his father said exactly when he first spoke, something about Scar being a "foolish boy" and a "child" and something about some beasts sounding like humans, like vampire or werewolf's in the day.
He didn't really pay attention because all he could pay attention to was the firm grip on his wrist, and the way his father, using Scars own arm, shoved the boy to the ground.

He felt his own hand come in contact with his chest and push.

He felt the pain in the back of his head as it hit the firm soil.

He felt the blades of grass in his hands as he grabbed the ground.

A shiver went down his spine, a cold feeling in his chest.

He wished the leaves and grass and flowers beneath his body could in that moment cover him and save him, turn him into earth. That way he would be safe.

Foolishly in the panic he had thrown his gun when he fell.

The man above him had a firm grip on his gun.

A million images went through the boys head,

He worried, What would his father do?

He thought his father would place his boot on his chest, and tell him not to question his knowledge, he would point the gun at his head and say if he did it again he would show him what his gun could do.

Or maybe he would just shoot him for it, it's enough for him to need such punishment.
Then he'd take him home, and tell his sister *Scar* foolishly pointed the gun at himself and accidentally shot, and tell her to fix him up.
Or he might-

Before he could image anything else, he heard the soft crunching of the forest below his father's feet, he was already walking away.
"Get up, we're leaving."
"Yes, sir."
The walk back the house was silent.
Scars hand was balled into a fist.
His eyes held steady on the ground.
His breathes were shallow.
"Why are so quiet? It's not like you. No, don't answer. I like the peace, for once." Said his father on the way back.

Mumbo was walking home, he had taken off his coat and wrapped it around his forearm.

"My brand new coat, ruined. " He grumbled on the way back.
The pain had definitely subsided, in the moment, it felt horrible, but only minutes later and it felt similar to a mild cut.
Vampires pain tolerance, for you.

Grian was again in the river. His eyes were shut and his wings were spread.
It was nice.

"Hey, Gri, where do we keep the bandages?"

What.
what?
Instantly, Grian shot up. Water splashed.
"Oh!, Mumbo!"
He stood up and ran to Mumbo.

"Don't run! You'll hurt yourself."
"Mumbo, what in the world happened to yourarm!? "
Grian stared at it.

"Hi, hello. Yes, I'm back. I didn't make it to town though. Are you going to say hello? So much for a welcome!"

"Mumbo. What happened."

Grian was now staring at Mumbo's eyes. Mumbo's hands started to move and wave around as he explained.
"Well, I guess I was walking, as you do, and suddenly, bam! Something shot at me! Oddest thing. Usually hunters hunt, you know.. animals. Not, you'd suppose, some man walking to the market! Really odd. Really rude. "

Mumbo was acting like it was no big deal.
This was a big deal.
"Mumbo, show me your arm."

He unwrapped the coat from the arm.
The undershirt he wore was burned around the wound. Burned.
"What , how- who, ugh!" Grians hands grabbed his own hair in frustration.

"Mumbo! You could've died! Oh, goodness!" He turned from the man, now his hands covered his face in what seemed like dispair.

"I'm fine, really. I'm sure it wasn't meant in a bad manner."
Grians hands went down after a few minutes and his snapped his whole body to face the vampire.
" 'Wasn't meant in a bad manner?' This man! This man!"

He grabbed Mumbo by the good arm and dragged him into the wood hut.
He grabbed the bandages and stopped.

"Ugh!"

"Stay here, I need to get water and wine to clean that-"
"No, I can do it."
Before Grian could say anything, Mumbo already had walked off to the river and took some water from it.

Grian sighed.
"Are you done?"
"Yes!"
"Get in here now!"
He walked over to the house.
"Sit." He pointed to a stool.

When Mumbo did, he put the water to boil on a small fire he had made whilst Mumbo got the water, he stared at the flames.
Grian started to think.

Who in their right mind would go out and hunt people? vampire hunters could've done it, but he saw what Mumbo was wearing. He looked like any human man! And people didn't common do that anymore, he knew that for sure.

That fool must be insane. Some old man gone crazy, I mean Grian *did* know his name, his father's and his brothers.
Oh, you must be confused, I never explained.

Grian has always had an otherworldly way to, for a lack of better words,watch. He can find out anything he wants about somebody, see what they are doing.
He didn't do it often though, he had rules about it, ever since he found out a secret of Mumbo's behind his back using it and made him quite upset. And, it gave him the worst headache.
Soon, the water started to boil, he left it for a few minutes to cool after he took it off the make shift fire, and soon he had cleaned Mumbo's wounds with the water and wine, he started to wrap the tallers arm up.
".."
".."
"I'm sorry."
"For?"
"For making you upset."
Grian looked at him.
His eyes looked black and glassy.
Mumbo never could really make Grian upset.
Grian knew this.
"Don't be. We are going to find that man and show him what I think about people that shoot my friends."

"Wait, what?"

Mumbo's eyes widened.
"Who? What?"
"Whoever shot you. I'll show him what's good for him."
Grian said, eyes down, looking at the bandage he was wrapping, eyebrows furrowed.
stupid hunters. Stupid bandages. Stupid. stupid.

"Wait, what? First, we haven't a slight clue who that was, and second, that doesn't seem very just."
Mumbo wanted to shake Grian until his teeth chattered.
What was the bird thinking?
"It's very very just. And, for your information, yes, we do. I know where he lives, his father's name and his name."
The fanged stared
at the winged.
He hadnt done what Mumbo thought, used his odd powers, but that was the only possiblity.

"You didn't!"
"I did!"
That must've been what he was doing when he turned his back. not crying in dispair.

"Tomorrow morning we are going into the city. I'm purchasing a pistol. You are buying what you intended to today. Tomorrow night we are finding him, and showing him what I think of his manners."

He had finished tending to Mumbo's arm and was handing him his clothes back.

"No, thank you. I'm getting a new under shirt, that one is burnet up. But I'll take my waistcoat."
Mumbo said, grabbing the coat. He didn't argue, he knew Grian was set on this, and when the avian was set on something, his mind was hard to change.

Scar sat next to his sister on a moss covered rock outside, fungi and bugs making the dieing tree their new home.

"Are you okay?" She said, her bright orange hair shining in the sunset light.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He said, a weak smile on his face.

"I know he punished you again for what you did hunting today. He was screaming all about it when I asked him if you guys caught anything today."

Scars whole facade came tumbling down like Jericho.
"Oh, Gem! I can't take this man!" He stood up abruptly, his face in his hands, bandaged up.

"Did he cut your knuckles?"
"Yes, Gem, of course he did! Of course, what else wouldnt he do! Why doesn't he just cut my hands off!"

The man had slashed his knuckles with a sharp glass shard, the stinging coming back to his mind at the reminder.

Gem was the only biological child their father had, she was at first, upset at Scar being adopted into the family when she was eight, and he six.
But she warmed up to him, and soon she was like a sister to him.

Though Scar longed for his mother, his father and his brother who he had to say goodbye to when Scar was adopted. They were pretty close.

"Scar, what happened? He said you cried like a child. Did he yell at you? Did you miss your shot and he got upset? What got you so riled up?"
"I.."
All the anger dissolved into sorrow and guilt.

He remembered the shot. The cry, yell. The warm tears that ran down his cheeks. The way his father's voice became sharp but also quiet.

The way the ground felt on his back.

"He said I shot a beast but.. I'm sure it was a man. Gem, if you heard the scream I heard you would've been sure too! I swear on it!"
Scar said, he had sat back down.
Gem gasped, over dramatically.
"Scar! You shot a *person?* Oh, Scar! you'll get arrested by the king!"
She stood.

"This is *terrible*! Oh, Scar!"

"Gem, are you being serious?"

"No, Duh." She sat down abruptly, the two braids that hid in the amber forest of her hair swinging as she did.

"Scar, there's no way you shot a man. We are the only people this far out here."
"That's what he said!" He sighed as he put his head in his hands.

all he could hear was the little paw steps of the rabbit he had been following for an hour in the dim moonlight.
He hadn't eaten in days.
Not since he was taken from his father only a few nights ago.
He was hungry.
So, so hungry.
The rabbit stood, still.
Grian watched the cotton-white prey from the trees.

He waited.
And, finally , he pounced.
He heard the — snap! — of cracking bones, the screams of horror coming from the tiny meal.
He lunged his teeth into the creatures neck, and bit as hard as he could.

Crack!
He felt a odd feeling of delight in the small creatures cries, in the fear he could smell, in how slowly the breath left it's body.
He thought it was the fulfillment of bodily hunger.
But it was of another hunger.
One that Grian couldn't understand.

Grian woke up from that dream in a cold sweat.
The moonlight hitting his hands as he looked down at them.

He needed revenge.

Mumbo convinced Grian they should go in the afternoon, "I need my rest, you know. I was shot."

And so, it was the afternoon. 5:00 pm exactly.

"Mumbo! Come on! Let's get on with thisssss!" ,Grian said , already fully ready , dressed and packed, his wings hidden under his cloak, and his tail feathers shoved down a pant leg rather uncomfortablely. He looked a little awkward, but he was sure no one would ask.

"I'm getting ready! Unlike you I didn't do that hours beforehand, you madman!"
Said Mumbo in the cabin as he shuffled about.
The younger was walking in a thousand circles. He was staring at his clock. 5:00 turned to 5:05, 5:05, turned to 5:15, 5:15 turned to 5:20 and 5:20 turned to-

"Aghhh! Mumbo! Hurry it!"

And at that moment he walked out.

"Finally! Come on, let's go!"
Mumbo walked out with a navy blue outfit, with a nice matching hat too. It had a feather in it.
"Do you like my hat? I got it recently."
"Oh, Mumbo, whatever, let's get going! Now!" He said, already walking down the path.

Mumbo followed.

The village was very small, hardly a village.

Grian kept his eyes down, but Mumbo didn't, he felt comfortable at this market. People knew him.

" 'ey, Mumbo! Who's that fellow with you?"
Said the man running the shop, rifles and hunting guns and things to go with those things, things you need to hunt.
"Oh, just my uhm.. little brother, he doesn't like to go anywhere too far from our home, this is his first time buying a -"
"Please, can I have a rifle?" Grian interruped, slamming a few pounds on the table.
"Oh, alright, decisive young man!" Said the man, grabbing one from the back.

Grian grabbed it when it was given.

They got back to the hut a few hours after five, maybe seven? Eight?
"Let's get going, it's not too far but the suns already set and the moon makes me anxious."
"Yes, I know Grian. Let me put away the goods really quick."
Grian had his rifle on him, and his dagger he had from so long ago.
He was ready to scare the living soul out of that man.
Maybe worse.

Scar had gotten into his bed.

He couldn't get to sleep, ever since that hunt that day he felt like eyes were on him. Watching. His breath was quick.
He slept in the small house that was build for the chickens they kept, alone.
He didn't want to be alone right now.

The fact his door didn't lock and the fact he couldn't defend himself was a thought that was at the back of his head ever since he laid down.
He felt his own cold sweat dripping down his back.

He tried to look at his hands, the lake of light made everything distorted, he couldn't make out any details but the silhouette of it.
The air felt hot and cold at the same time.
He was as panicked as a deer and he didn't know why.
the same fear he felt just that day had came back, and he didn't know why.
He decided to grab his covers like they were the only thing he had to cover himself.
He closed his eyes, and counted the amount of chicken clucks he heard.

One, two, three, four..

He heard the creak of his door open. He heard faint foot steps, a panicked feeling rushed through his blood, through his heart mind and soul.

Hi eyes were held shut, and so we're his fists.
Five, it's not real, nobody is going to hurt you, six, you didn't mean to hurt that man, nobody knows, seven, it was probably just a animal, eight, it's okay, Scar, nine, it's okay, ten, you'll be just fi-

Something tackled him. He gasped a hard gasp, like he had been holding his own breath without knowing. he started to scream, a hand placed on his lips,
He wrestled with whatever, whoever, had grabbed him, it ended up with him on the floor, the other atop him.

The warm feeling of a hand on his face almost was comforting. The warmth of another person was nice. The hand was almost nice feeling, rough but not like his father.
He hadn't realized he had stopped screaming.
He stood still, frozen as the hand lifted.

"Please, don't do that again."
Scar stopped. A voice. Talking. He couldn't tell what it said. The shock of the realison of that another man had tackled him, hunted him down (he assumed.), he was filled with shock and panic and fear and confusion, his mind felt blue and purple and pink.

"Goodness. Foolish you are, Scar Goodtimes."
Scar stared at the silhouette of a face above him.
What?

How did he know his name? This man had hunted him down. He spied on him, surely. How else would he know his name.

Oh, no. He would kill him. He would hang him for murder. He was probably from the king. Or , maybe he was a assassin.

Oh, no! He would be hanged! Maybe even worse, maybe he would kidnap him-

"Hello? Are you alive? I'm speaking, Scar."

"What, what? How do, how—, how do you know my name?" Scar said in a weak voice.

Grian had hid by the door for 20 minutes. He told Mumbo beforehand to wait outside.

He didn't have a plan. He just wanted to punish the man who hurt his friend, practically his brother.
His head hurt and his knuckles were white.
And there he was, doing what he planned, well, he didn't make a plan. He just made it up as he went.

" I have a question for you, do you always shoot people, do you do it for fun?"
He felt a certain joy he couldn't understand in how the man below him shook.
Scars hands went to his mouth, he looked horrified.

"Did— did i— did I shoot you?" He said in a terrified voice.
He looked pathetic.
"What—no, no."
Grian never liked it when he was looked at in a pathetic way, as if he was the one in wrong.
And yet, it gave him a odd, wonderful feeling in the fear the other carried.

"Who did I shoot then?" He said, he looked like he was on the verge of tears.
His eyes shone in green hues with the smallest stripes and spots of gold-brown.
"My friend."
"Is he okay? Where did the bullet land? Is he here? I'm so sorry—, I , oh, goodness, please, can I see him? Oh, my!"

Grian looked at him like he was crazy.
"Did you not shoot?"
"Yes, but I didn't know it was a man I shot. Please, I'm just a fool, a sorry fool who wishes to apologize for his actions."

Grian felt the smallest stream of guilt flow through the ocean of anger.
"The damage is done, Scar."
He tried to sit up, but Grian held him down.
do I really want to hurt this man?
The thought came through a back part of his head that was blocked by a storm of anger and confusion and a animalistic wish of blood.

"Please, let me go, sir!"
He tried with all his half awake body would let him, but Grian had him down, the winged grabbed his empty pistol and pointed it in-between Scars eyes.
Do I want to hurt this man? Do I want to hurt this man?
"Don't move. I will shoot."
"Yes, sir." Said scar subconsciously.

Mumbo had heard everything was being said, he awkwardly was standing outside the small chicken house.
Thats when he heard what the unfamiliar "Scar" in there said.
It riddled mumbo with a sharp yellow feeling of guilt, this boy truly , he was sure, didn't mean to hurt him.
He grabbed the wooden handle of the door.

"Grian, get off of the boy, now!"
"Mumbo, I— I said to wait outside!"
"what did I just say?!"
Grian jumped off him.
Mumbo was a little scary when he was mad.
Mumbo was mad?

"Scar, was it? I'm so sorry for my friends behavior. Please, let me help you up."
He offered a pale hand.
Scar took it.
Grian stood unmoving.
mumbo was mad at him. He didn't want to hurt this man.
"Did ..— did I .. are you the—?"
Scars hands shook his eyes looking to the tall silhouette before him.

"Oh, it's all right. It's all right. You didn't mean it, I'm sure, right?"
Scars throat felt like glass was shoved down it in guilt.
"Oh, sir! I'm so sorry!"
Scar wanted to get on his knees and apologize until his throat ached from crying for forgiveness.
you hurt a man Scar, Scar, don't cry, Scar, your a useless boy.
And warm wet feeling came to his cheek.

Mumbo felt just awful.
Why would Grian want to hurt somebody?
Why had he chose such a pathetic looking boy?
and now Scar was crying.

"Don't cry boy, it's all right."

Chapter Text

Mumbo promised they would be back.
Scar wanted them both to come back, so he could really apologize.
Mumbo wanted them both to come back so they could really apologize.

Grian felt numb. all orange and red,
He felt like a crushed leaf you don't think about when you stomp it with your boot.

He didn't know why.

Mumbo hadnt said word to him since, even as Grian tried to talk.
"Mumbo, is your arm feeling better?"
"Mumbo, do you think these flowers will be a good 'sorry'?"
"Mumbo, where is the bread?"
"Mumbo, I'm scared to see him again, what if doesnt forgive me?"
"Mumbo, I'm sorry."
No answer, he pointed, he shrugged, but he didn't utter a word.

Mumbo had decided to give Grian a silent punishment for his actions that night.

He wouldn't dare lay a finger on him, so he decided maybe if Grian didn't get company for a day or more it would be well good punishment.
It was driving Grian mad.
He wanted to hear Mumbo again, it made him angry and sad. And he only been doing it for a few, four and 10 hours counting, days.
stupid not talking, stupid anger, stupid hunters, stupid everything!

He felt like a child. Being upset by everything. Being overwhelmed by everything.
Jumping to conclusions and hurting somebody he didn't know.
Everything was stupid, stupid!
He wanted to break bones, he wanted to bandage wounds, he wanted to hunt, he wanted to embrace, he wanted to kick like a child having a tantrum.

He wanted to kill everything and everybody,
He wanted to hug his friend that hadn't talked to him, he wanted to talk to him, he wanted to strangle that man!
His brain was full of puffy clouds and sharp lighting at the same time.
His head hurt, his heart hurt.
Too much! Too much!
He flew up to the highest branch that could hold him.
The leaves brushing against his feathers.

He looked down in the river, he looked down at the cabin. He looked at Mumbo.
He wanted to fly, fly far off.
Like a bird flying off at winter.
stupid summer.

He wanted to smack himself for foolishly hunting down a man for something that Mumbo didn't think was bad so it must've not been so bad.
He watched a deer feed off the green grass. green like Scar's eyes.
Why was he thinking about the man that had gotten him into this whole mess of his head right now?
Oh, he's gonna hurt him. Bad. He's gonna make him blee-

No! That anger is what got him this whole predicament. No!
He needed to calm down.
Mumbo was so upset with himself and Grian for going along with that illegal, horrid, rude, harassment.
he was supposed to be a gentleman. He wasn't supposed to hurt humans.

Enough stressing, he had to get ready to meet Scar, whom he barely knew, but that's okay, at noon. It was 10 am.
He, on a normal day, wouldve called the avian from his perch, but not today.
He wouldn't say a word to him until they were at the place Mumbo had chosen to meet Scar.
He breathed in, and out.

Scar paced. He had been at the spot in forest he was told to be at noon for far longer then required.
He was stressing.
What if that Grian fellow was still mad? What if the tall man was too? What was his name.. Mumbo?
He told his father he was going on a long hunt, his sister he told nothing to. He didn't feel the need.
It was almost noon. Where were they?

"Hello so sorry Grian isn't here. He's running..late. he will be here , don't worry. "
Right there. Well, one.
"Oh! Hello sir, uh.. how's your.. day?"
Mumbo, in the sunlight, Scar could see he had pale skin and bat-pointed ears, his eyes were a deep ruby.
Characteristics of a vampire.
"Good, no need to call me sir. I'm only nineteen."
"I'm eighteen."
"Still."

Oh no, oh no! Grian was late, he had spent too much time crying like a child and forgot about meeting Scar!
Mumbo was gonna be mad, so.. so mad! Far madder then before! He would punish him even more, cast him out far away from everything and everybody (Mumbo), he cared about!
That was what Grian convinced himself was bound to happen as he rushed to the area they (Mumbo) agreed upon.
Flying would be quicker, easier he thought.
He panted as he landed a few feet away from the tall man.
"Sorry.. I... Forgot.. Sorry!" He said in-between wheezes.

No one said a word.
was Mumbo giving Scar the silent treatment too?
Grian, as soon as he recovered his breathing to a steady pace, looked at Scar.
Wide eyes, staring at Grian.
Mumbo, wide eyes staring at Grian.
"What?"
"You.. forgot something. Grian. Your .. your wings!" Mumbo said in a hushed voice.
"Oh." Suddenly, everything felt heavy.
He felt his feathers puff up.
He felt a wave of fear come over him.
He had to force his wings not to stretch and widen out, his natural instincts telling him to be bigger, scarier.
His own instincts told him to hide, cower, cover.

and a odd, small part of him told him to pounce, bite, scratch.
He listened to none of his instincts and stood still, straight.
Frozen.
He heard the footsteps of Mumbo slowly moving closer.
He will surely be mad at me, he will try and strike me down.
Thought Grian.
Maybe he will do the opposite, maybe he will protect me, like im his brother.
Thought a smaller Grian in his head.
He did not listen to either.
He saw Scar staring at Grian, at his wings, his face, his everything.
His eyes carving into Grians skin, into his brain and heart.
Grian wanted to hurt Scar, he did not like being dissected by other people's eyes, like a dead frog.
He, as you may assume, did not listen to himself.

He felt the familiar hand on his back.
"Uhm, well. That aside.. we came to say sorry and how may we make it better?" Mumbo, said, cutting though the thick silence. (that, might I add, was strangling Grian like a snake.)
It took a minute, — a very awkward minute — for Scar to respond.
"..you can make it better by letting me say sorry.. for shooting you, that is. I didn't intend to, truly.
I was only aiming for.. an animal."

"Of course, it's not problem. It's all fixed up, healing fine.."
"That's , uhm, great!"

Grian and Mumbo walked through the thick wood to the wooden cabin hidden in the forest.
That was a awkward, embarrassing, horrible, depersonalizing, experience.
Grian was so very glad it was over and done with.
Mumbo was not speaking to the feathered fellow and he would never see that tormenting man again!

He would never be reminded of the way his thoughts rebelled his morals, again.
Of how he acted like the monster he was said to be.
Of how he ..

"Well, that was something." Mumbo said, looking over to Grian, who only looked at the ground.

"Yes, it was. I'm tired."
"It's not even evening?"
"..I'm tired."

As soon as Grian got back, he walked into the little house and went face first into his bedding.

Grian sat in the grass on his knees, brushed and bruised and red. His hands red, covered in blood of an animal, the name of it he didn't know.
It was smaller than a rabbit, it's fur ragged and grey. It's eyes blank and it's teeth like the rabbits. It's ears small and round, tail long, peachy with thin hairs, it's hands left scratches on his arms.

It clawed at him, wishing for freedom, it bit him, leaving a bloody mark of his arm as it shrieked, the noise falling upon deaf ears, his only focus on the flesh, the meal. His cheeks felt warm and wet and tingly from the little things claws.

He wondered if it fought because of instinct, he wondered why the little animal was all alone. He wondered if maybe it had been thrown out, just like him.
He dug his teeth into gross-tasteing fur, tearing, searching for that metal like taste of blood.
He found it after a few struggling minutes.
He smiled, savoring the taste. It was nice, better then the bright tasting flowers that felt soft and mushy on his tongue, this felt fresh, real. Delicious.

He flapped his wings happily as he dug into his worthy meal.
you have out up a fight, small grey rabbit. I will enjoy you, I will thank you.
He thought, as he saw little pinkish bones show their faces.

Grian sighed, in present day, he thought.
do not think of the past, do not think. Do.
He didnt enjoy being alone with only himself and his thoughts, his memories.

Scar was now home.
He sighed.
He wondered where Gem was.
He wondered if he should tell Gen what happened..
No, he should not.
He just spoked to what he thought to be a .. weird, small more bird-like Watcher .. man ..? And a Vampire.
She wouldn't believe him, or worse, she would.
She would want to meet them, and then she would get hurt. (or maybe he would? Who knows if they want people knowing about their existence!)

Nope, not happening.
He learned Father would be gone for a week long hunting trip.
That excited him.
He could do what he wanted, without being punished.
He liked that.
"Scarrrrrr, I have something to show you!"
He sat up, sighing.
"Yesss, Gemmmm?" He sing-songed.

He walked over, skipping, her hair all bright and orange as ever, her hands behind her back as her feet crushed the grass beneath her.
"First, you gotta guess."
"Animal bones?"
"Nooo.."
"A new drawing?"
"Nope!"
"Your tricking me and wasting my timeee.. Again?"
"Noooo, never...hah."
"Oh, just show me, please?" He said, his face in a crooked smirk, his hands on his hips.
"Fiiiiiiinnne!"
She sighed dramatically, then, even more dramatically, she waved her hands into view, them surrounding some red flowers.
"Poppies!" He squealed.
"Yes! I found them in a little hidden flower bush. It's behind your chicken house by a far bit."
"We need to go! I love flowers!"
"So do I, obviously!"

Grian had climbed into the tallest tree he could, his favorite, his father oak, as he called it.

He could see a good portion of the forest from this high, he was a bit far from home, but that was fine. After everything with Mumbo and Scar he was fine to have a bit of alone-and-not-too-far-away-from-home-but-still-far-enough-time.
His hands trailed the curves in the wood, sometimes snagging on bumps.
He saw pictures, stories.
His head rested against a thick branch.
He had sat here so many times he was sure the wood had formed to his body where he sat, between two branches.

He could look down and see a pond, and not too far from that he could see a field. Within it, on the edges and around were flowers.
Red, he assumed roses.
He never really knew his flowers.
He could see something else, too.

A man.. a women ..
The women's hair was orange, bright like fall leaves.
The man he knew to be Scar. His stomach filled with guilt and anger.
The women ..
Seemed so familiar.

"Papa, I'm going out into the woods for berry picking. I will be back, tell Pearl I will get her some too!"

Grian yelled into his home, his hands cupped his mouth as he walked out the door.
He skipped out into the dark green, bright and almost unfamiliar.
But he knew how to get to the berry bushes and back, so that's what he would do.
He skipped, singing as he did

"Jack Sprat could eat no fat." He crushed a leaf.
"His wife could eat no lean." He saw a bird fly away.
"And so between them both, you see," he felt rocks in-between the dirt he stepped on.
"They licked the platter clean—" he heard another sing.
"—Jack ate all the lean," the voice sang.
"Joan ate all the fat!" He sang skipping closer.
"The bone they picked it clean,—" they sang in unison.
—"Then gave it to the cat!" He skipped, seeing her.
She wore green, her hair was so bright and orange he could've sworn she was a flower.
"You sang with me!" He chirped.
"Yeah, I did, forest boy!"
" I'm no forest boy! I'm Grian!"
He walked closer.
She did not run.
"Im Gem, Gemini Tay!"
"Grian..Grian!" He said, throwing his hand out for her to shake.
She shaked it, laughing.
"Your funny, birdie!"
"Your funny, foxy!"
They both giggled, childish joy, shaking like leaves.
"Do you live in the woods?"
"Do you live in the trees?"
They went into a giggling fit, Grian flopped on the ground, flapping his wings in joy.
Gem also went to the ground, wheezing.
"Huhhh— your— funny!"
He laughed louder, almost screaming.
She clapsed her hands over her ears.
"Your— ahaha— huhh— loud too!" She wheezed.
They played for hours, pretending to be animals.
Grian braided Gems hair, sitting on a rock, just like his older sis taught him. He was so proud. She felt so pretty.

They giggled, and he loved her hair, it was soft and ginger, it curled and coiled and twisted all wild-like, unlike his sisters, whom he also loved, her hair was straight and thin and dark, he loved her hair too but hers was so unfamiliar, so new. Not like his or his sisters or mothers, or fathers-

A feeling of fear came over Grian as he saw the sky turn blue-ish purple, the moon peaking from the clouds, all shy-like.
Scary.
"Uh oh, it gonna be night soon, I've gotten to go!"
"Awww, why!"
"Papas gonna be so worried if I'm out at night."
"Oh.. okay!"
"I see you soon?"
"Nooo.. I'm not supposed to go into the woods. That's what my father says." She sighed.
"Oh, sorry! See you never!"
"See you never!" She smiled, giving him a goodbye hug.
He soon left, to home.

Chapter Text

She ran through the woods, a thick bloody river flowing through her, full of rage hurt and longing.

She had just escaped the house that encaged her like a jail. Her wings buzzed behind her, wishing for flight.
She stampeded through the tall grass, she clawed at bark, leaving her fingertips bloody and splintered.
She cried, she cried for many things.
She cried for anger, rage, madness, insanity! The women who had adopted her into the mangled mess they called a "family" had only treated her with disgust and hate ever since her brother went missing.

The women used to love her daughter, she found her when she was only a child. Alone, in the dark. A freak, a girl born with the likeness of a cloth-eating-pest.
But when she was found, everything felt better.

She had a little brother, a boy with the likeness of a bird. Her mother taught her how to sew and loved her, held her like a blood child. Braided her hair, and taught her to do the same.
She taught her brother, and he would repeat it.

"No, no. Gribaaa, you do it like this!" She said, fiddling with his tawny hair. He had just long enough hair were he could braid it himself, and that's what big sis Pearl was teaching him.
through giggles and maybe some play-fighting, of course. "This one goes over this one.." "f'is one goes over of'er one!" Grian parroted, his hands clumsily tugging at his hair on his left, whilst Pearl gently fixed on his right.

"And then this one goes over. And you keep doing it until it looks like how mum taught us."
"Just like muma!"
"Just like muma."

Pearl deeply missed him. He had been missing for about five years.
He would be thirteen. She thought will sorrow. Pearl was so sure, as sure as she was of the wings on her back that her sweety little brother was dead. How can a little bird survive in the wild, unwielding world? At only eight? Surely not.

She wondered if he was all alone when he succumbed to his hunger, maybe the winters frostbite, possibly to the wounds of a predator.
She imagined him sobbing, as thick red poored into his hands as he weakly attempted to stop the pain.
As his shaking stops, as he fell slump, one last warm breath leaving his dry mouth that had only just been crying, screaming for help.
It only made her cheeks wetten even more as she leaned into a dark tree, her back making a thump as it hit the bark.

She slid down the tree, it scratching at the red cloak her mother owned. She felt the soft, warm, solid soil under her as the bark scratched at her fragile, weak, she thought, wings. She heaved. The cloak was so expensive, bright red. It was only supposed to be hers when mother passed away. she's practically dead to me now. she thought, as she saw how it was tathered and dirtied from her rampages.

She felt moonlight hit her. She looked to the moon, the lovely woman in the sky. It called her, beckoned her.
She remembered how it made little Grian cry, she in the moon was such a scary, threatening sight to him. Pearl never knew why.

"Oh, little sparrow. It's just the lady in the sky, she won't hurt you." He only cried harder into her hair. "It's okay. It's okay.. shhh, shhh. It's okay if you don't like her. You don't have to. Cry it out, little thing."

She rubbed little shapes in his back, she wrote her alphabet, numbers, sayings she knew. None of it made him stop crying. "My poor baby brother," She sighed. She loves the moon, she feels like the moon, one in another. but the sun is scared of the moon. And the moon, oh so dearly loves the sun.

She did not realize, but she stopped crying. She did not realize, but another was there, just behind her tree.

"Excuse me lady, you seem to be having a lovely time. But I do have a question and your the only person I've seen for miles." The voice sent shock through her, she jumped up, and bolted behind the tree, her antenna bolting around, not realizing in her rush the voice came from behind.
She was met with a man, around her age, with the most bright and beautiful hair she'd seen, it sparkled and shined in blues and cyans, it reminded her of blue Jays. He wore fancy clothing, she felt embarrassed. She was wearing the cut top of a blue dress with pants she sew herself, and a ratty cloak.

"My, you seem frightened. I just have a question, where am I? I don't know these areas."

It had been years since she met the sparkling man of wonder.
He had offered her a place to stay, his father was rich and even at only seventeen he had a house to himself. He chose not to own slaves as he was far in the woods and he did not believe in the slave trade. So nobody would see Pearl, or judge Pearl.
She wore the clothes of a gentleman, she never liked dresses. Though she still wore corsets over her clothing.
She ate three solid meals a day and in favor of the blue haired man (whom she learned to be named Scott) she helped with the chores of the house.

She spent her evenings writing, and embroidering. Sometimes she chose to study the moon on partially clear nights. In the lovely night air.

She sat, cushioned by mother earth as she looked up to her mother in the clouds. The chill of the night crisp on her skin. She felt the sharp wind hit her, sending her hair swinging about, snapping in her face. She looked up to her moon and smiled, studying with her eyes it's shape, color, it's presence, the cold but somehow still warm light it brought her in the nocturnal times she spent wide awake. The light called her, she wished her wings were strong enough to carry her body, so she could get closer, to feel the moon.
What does she feel like? Is she rough? Is she smooth? Is she simply a illusion, a trick of her mind? No, she couldn't be. Her songbird saw her too.

But her lovely nights and sheltered morning came to a end far too soon.

After two whole years one day, a random evening Scott told her to pack her bags.
She did so, and now she met him at his door.
She slowly walked down the wooden steps, her boots making clicking sound on the worn painted wood. She stepped from the porch she spent hours sitting on. Her knuckles white, her body tense and every moment taking too much angered effort.
Scott looked at her just from the door, the sunlight shining upon his face making his hair shine.

He looked her up and down, she did not know what went through his head. She wished she could pry into there and take a look, she wished to bang his head into the floor. He looked pained, yet still looked happy. "My father found out of me occupying a , quote on quote— 'strange lady from the forest who dresses like a man'— and ordered me to.. rid of her. This is not my choice, Pearlescent Moon." He said, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Yes, you've told me, Scott Smajor." She spat through sharp teeth. she hoped her spit landing onto his shiny shoes. "May we.. meet again when I'm not bonded my father?" "May we." They shoot hands, he shut the door, she felt grass beneath her feet.

She waited. She waited until his footsteps from inside were faint. When they finally were, she pulled her leg up, her foot on her knee. She took off her buckled shoe and promptly threw it at the window. It did not land inside, the window being closed firm. It knocked against the wood harshly. It then hit the tall grass, scaring a near by rabbit.

She took her other leg, taking her shoe, she threw again. This time landing on the wall. It chipped the paint ever so slightly. It landed near the porch. She hoped it served a good, harsh reminder when he cleaned the weeds alone.

Turned away. Walking into the very woods she was found in. She felt the same as the day she was brought into warm, welcome arms. What they used to be, anyways. Rage. Sorrow. Longing.
She threw her two bags into a tree, she would find them later. She ran around barefoot, shouting, scaring the birds. She did not cry although. She did not want to cry over such a worthless piece of rabbit droppings.

She made a note in her mind never to trust kindly strangers with bright, unnatural hair that glowed in sunlight.
No matter how kind they seem.

It had been a day or two since she and Scar went for a waltz in the poppies.
Gem looked into the river, she saw her own reflection. Her hair, her eyes, her face. She looked into the water as it shifted and moved with her finger tips, making swirls and pictures like no other. Her knees felt nice against the firm soil, she was sure her dress was getting terribly muddy. She couldn't make herself leave the water if she tried.

She looked over her shoulder, seeing nobody. She sighed. She sat up, and started to dig into the ground next to the tree that sat close to the river and she dug into the soil. It didn't take long into her fingers reached leather. She pulled with great force and took out a book.

It was brown, with green and purple accents that were slightly muddy and brown-stained. It was a spell book she had found so many years ago. She opened it, the leather landing into the dirt beneath it.

She drifted her fingers through the pages as she counted. "—five, six, seven, eight —", she felt mud and dirt under her fingernails. "—thirteen , fourteen, fifthteen—" she felt the hot summer air. "—seventeen, eighteen, nineteen.. and twenty!" She stopped, landing on a page. She dragged her hand across the words. Listing them in her head. She tried repeating them, waving her hands around.

She did so many times, her arms began to tire. Her voice sounded less excited and more bored, tired. She spend several minutes, she could've sworn twenty, just saying the spell. Over, and over and over again.

After an eternity, she felt a spark in her fingertips. She saw purple gleam from her hand, as she chanted once more it shot out, burning a bit of grass. Not spreading, the purple light dimming almost as quick as it was born. "Yes!" She cheered, pumping her hands into the air.

She stood up abruptly, jumping up and down, she twirled and danced, her dress becoming muddy. "I did it! I'm a wizard, I'm a wizard!" She laughed, feeling a happy flutter in her gut.

"Geeemm!" She heard a familiar voice say. She stood still."
"Yesss Scarrr?" She called, kneeling quickly. "I wish to see my dear sisterrrr?" He called, she could tell he was getting closer. She hurriedly shoved the book into the hole, covering it with dirt, huffing as she did.
"Coming my dear brother!" She sang, patting the last bit of dirt.

She couldn't be caught doing such foolish things.

Mumbo sighed. It had only been a few days since they met with Scar. He couldn't wrap his head around three things:

I: Why was Scar so normal about Grians wings, or about him barging into his home and trying to hurt him? Why didn't he seem scared, angry, even that much shocked. He didn't even seem to have any resentment towards them the night it happened. He seemed concerned for Mumbo, he should've tried to hurt me, me and Grian. Not gravel to my feet and apologize, that's how you get hurt. he thought. It confused him so.

II: Why did Grian even go after Scar? Shooting a man is terrible, but Mumbo hardly ever saw Grian go through fits of rage and bloodlust anymore these days. He saw that dark purple fire in his eyes. He hadn't seen that in years. He saw the way Grians hands shook at the thought, he saw how shook he was after. He saw how distant and sad he was when Mumbo gave him a silent treatment, but was he supposed to do? He wanted to rid Grian of his violent habits. He needed to be punished some way, just like Mumbo was when he was younger. He didn't need a bruising, he needed mental punishment. Mumbo no longer felt scared of Grian when he went into violent episodes, not anymore.

He remembered Grians first outburst.

Grian jumped onto Mumbo, his nails digging into Mumbo's undershirt. "Grian!" He shouted, wincing as he felt shoes dig into his own shins. Grian looked at him, eyes glossed over, nothing but void in his eyes. A faint glint of red, Mumbo swore. His breath was ragged, panting. He stared into Mumbo's eyes. He had a slight look of worry, sadness, but most of it was just animalistic thirst.

"Gri..—Grian! Stop—stop this!" He gasped, pressure on his chest. Grians wings flickered, his nails dug into the vampires collarbones, Mumbo hissed, he could feel the start of a river of blood as Grian dug and drug his nails, sharp. "Agh!" He groaned, trying to pry Grian off.

He forced his hands onto the birds shirt, holding tight, he pushed him off, throwing him onto the cold wood of the house, built only a year and some ago.

He cried out, feeling the others finger nails tear his skin, leaving bleeding scratches as his hands were pulled away, like some clawed beast.

Mumbo flipped him over, taking advantage of Grians shocked state, he held his bloodied hands to his back. the sting still strong and blazing.

He looked upon him, Grians cheek against the wood. His eyes tearing up. His body struggling. His wings trying to flap but only fluttering.
"Calm down, Grian." He hushed, keeping his distance in fear of a faceful of feathers, or a chest kick.
After some awkward (mainly for Mumbo) minutes, Grian stopped, suddenly limp. His eyes were no longer void, a purple shine to them as tears rolled down his cheeks. He choked out a sob, "Mum—i—oh,—'m—Mumbo!" He cried out, hands reaching for the larger hands that were secured onto his wrists, wet from the others sweat.

Mumbo let go, allowing him to cling onto the mustached man, nolonger seeking his pleas of mercy, now seeking comfort and forgiveness. "I— sorry!—" he said in-between sobs. Mumbo, even through his (rightfully so) frazzled, confused, scared state rubbed the avians back, still feeling worried through all the panic.

"I really— dont—" his whole body shakes with a sob that left his throat hurting. " I don't know what came over me Mumbo!— i—, I'm so sorry!" His knuckles felt numb from holding onto Mumbo's shirt. "It's all right. Just.. calm down."

thankfully now those days when Grian did get violent, it was never like that. He had some sense of control.
But that doesn't mean it's okay for him to still be doing it, Mumbo reasoned himself.

III: Why did Mumbo go along with it? Why didn't he immediately say no, tell him it was fine, maybe even say the shooter would get his own punishment? Mumbo couldn't imagine why he did, even though he did so less than a month ago. Mumbo couldn't wrap his head around his own thinking, somehow.

Mumbo sighed, his own thoughts giving him a headache.

He walked out of the house and saw a familiar sight, Grian in the river. "Hello, hello hello." Mumbo said, walking towards him. Grian looked up, and his eyes looked tired. Mumbo wondered why.

He looked over him, he saw his arm, raw and red. Scratches covering it, mostly just red lines, no blood drawn. Though, some looked scabbed over. Mumbo knew of Grians habit of scratching his arms until they were raw and burning. He knew if he commented on it he would only get defensive and anxious and would only worsen it.

He knew he would stop soon, he never did it for too long. He was never anxious for too long. Still, it made Mumbo worry. Grian must've seen him staring, because he looked worried, he seemed tensed up now.

"Seen anything nice in the trees lately?" Mumbo said. He sat onto the hard rocks, looking to the trees instead of the eyes of the one he was talking to, it was a bad habit, Grian said. Mumbo didn't care though, because it was a worse habit to have to be awkward everytime he talked to somebody because looking into another's eyes made it awkward, to Mumbo. Grian said it used to be like that for him, but his mother taught him better.

Mumbo didn't understand that, who's mother teaches their son to do something so horrific?, Mumbo never understand Grians mother

"What?" Grian said, looking into the dark haired mans eyes, even if he did not do the same.

"You've been in the trees alot lately, can barely ever get you onto the ground." Mumbo said, no sharpness in his tone. Only observation. "Saw.. some poppies. You'd like them. They were red." Grian said.
"Ah, I do like red. I think you'd look nice in red, but it's rather expensive."
"Yeah.."
"see anybody in the woods?" The winged sat up.
"Uh, yeah. Saw a woman.. girl? I don't know. Haven't seen a girl since .." Grians eyes drifted off of Mumbo.
Haven't seen a girl since I left Pearl behind, with my father he thought.
"I haven't seen a woman since I left my mother and my mama." Mumbo cut in. "Oh yeah, you had two Mothers, didn't you?" "Yeah, I do."

"What was it like?" Grian asked.
"Having two Mothers?" "Yes. I've only ever had one."

"I don't believe it's that much different. I just lack a father. But mama was like a father, the role of a father. She provided for the family money wise, she hunted, she did most things a father would. I looked up to mother though. She was kind, sweet. Though she still could hurt, she was still so loving. I wished to be like her." He said.

"That's interesting."

Chapter Text

sticks cracked under his steps. His hand fisted around the axe he carried.

It had been weeks since he had been in the river. It no longer calmed him. He didn't know why. Neither did Mumbo. He no longer found calm in Him. It felt only like worry. Mumbo hadn't changed, it was Grian. He wanted to prove himself to Mumbo, do everything and anything to show he wouldn't mess up again. He did this before when he hurt Mumbo. He wouldn't let Mumbo lift and finger for a month.

He wanted to prove to Mumbo he wouldn't hurt anybody again. He now was going to get wood for the fire.

He also may — or may not! — have not felt peace himself. He couldn't sit still because he would start to think about why he was violent. Why he was like this. Was it the same reason he had wings? Was it the same reason he was kicked out of his home like waste? Was it—

—thats why he had to keep busy. You keep busy, you make projects, you don't ever let yourself have a moment of rest until the moon comes up, and then you won't think of everything. And you won't feel sad, or panicked. And then everything goes away after a while.

Grian walked through the woods, looking at the animals in the plains, the leaves on the trees. He hadn't found a tree that wasn't ginormous or the smallest sprout you've ever seen.
He was annoyed, but he tried to stay calm.

"Hey, didn't think to find you this near in the woods!"

Grian dug his fingers into his hands. The voice came from behind, he knew who it belonged to. he spread his wings outwards, and then suddenly snapped around to face Scar. He felt that his wings smacked him in the face.
Good.

"What?" He said through clenched teeth. "I would think you'd been farther down the woods." Said Scar, looking happy as ever, his sideways smile showing his teeth.
Grian wanted to punch them out.
"What, only humans can get near civilization, huh?" Grian said, trying hard to sound bitter and rude.
"No, not what I meant at all! Just thought you would live.. deeper, in the woods that is. Your people dont usually like .. humans." Grian saw that his hair was long, over grown. It looked like a angry hedgehog, he thought. He want to pull his hair until he yanked a few chunks out.

"I do. But I need fire wood." Grian noticed a scar that trailed from his jaw to his nose, like a lighting strike in the stormy sky. Grian wondered what happened. Was it a stupid accident that landed him face first into a rock as a child? Did somebody hurt him, purposefully or accidentally? Grian yearned to just take a peak into his mind, into his sacred memories. He didn't though. He hated him, but not that much.

Grian saw Scars crooked smirk, he wanted to punch a few holes in it, just to teach him a lesson. He saw how he put his weight onto his right leg, his hands on his hips.

"Couldn't you get it from your area?" Grian wanted to give him a couple new Scars for his growing collection. "What, are you the king? You command where I go and where I do not? What problems you so much at my presence, Goodtimes? Why do you act so nice, but still try and act like you and I are different classes? Like I'm a pawn and you a king?" He said, stepping closer.

Grian walked closer, a firm grip on his axe. He walked towards him until he heard Scars back hit a tree. He slung the axe over his head the tree too thin for him to put it besides his cheek, right next to his Scar. it stuck into the wood, splintering. Grian kept a firm grip onto the axe.

Scar looked at Grian as he cornered him, pinned him to a tree. He felt his eyes stared at his scar. He also saw his eyes drift to his hat. He felt the others warm breath. He saw his eyebrows furrowing. He could tell he was trying not to hurt Scar, Scar didn't know whether to feel scared, or maybe excited? He knew he wouldn't hurt him, because he knew Grian wasn't a bad person, at least he hoped.

He looked at Grians feathers fluff up, his wings spread and hover above them both. He wanted to be bigger. Grian stared at the Scar, his hand hovering just over. He looked at Scars hat, decorated with a lilac. He thought the had looked nice.

He drug the axe out of the wood, leaving a tan mark. He turned from Scar.

"I'm sorry." They said in unison. Both looked back at the other. "It's okay, I understand." Scar said, slowly walking away. Grian only looked at him as he left.
(Note: look back at written pages in notebook for this part. I already can tell a missed some important bits that I had written before....:///)

Scar skipped along, a dark feather in his hand as he felt the excitement of something new, and dangerous. He seemed and wished for years for a escape, someone to swoop his off his feet and take him into the unknown! even if he had to chase him down. he stuck the feather that fell from the winged man in his hat,

After he looked fit over, how it shined and changed colors in his hand. How it was crooked and small, but big enough for his hat!

He galloped home, feeling a rebellious excitement. (Note:make Scars part a big longer?)

Doc swore as he he circled around the dark green grass and rocks in the faint moonlight. The purple crack in air and time had formed in his base at hermitcraft a few weeks ago. He had been experimenting with it, and today was the day he stepped through it. He was now stuck in a seemingly very-modded-server. The rift had crystalized into the cave wall he came through, it's portal turning into purple crystal. Doc could not understand what happened. Nothing was.. well, blocky here. The dark night reavled sounds of bugs in the night and owls.
(Note: pls more discrpshon!!!!! I wanna know how dark the night REALLY was. Pls marssss)
He sighed. Looking at his invotory (finish this.. have him realse this is not MC. Invortry glitches, ender chest doesn't work, blah blah. Sit grass)(idea for word count based on how much I want in it .. 900-2000?)

(Part about etho mourning scar(son), which comes after him wishing to comfort his """"wife""""" (it's a platonllic marriage for money and nothing else, spesify this!) and Bdubs (their son) comforting Cleo. It's night, blah blah. Hovering hand, turning away, He goes in his study and he tried to find out what happened, not until he goes to Scars room to look for clues, and maybe cry. When he does study, he does so so much he ends sleeping at his desk, sunlight and Bdubs greet him in the morning.ending is neither sad or happy for that littel backstory past sections., idea for word count of this partttt hmmmmm 1000-2200, just because I want multiple scenes and thought processs...)

(Grian and Scar meetup and become friends slowly number 2, pond./ 300-700

Boom