"Nonsense, Corv. What happened wasn’t your fault, and you hardly made a mess. Tipped over the paper towel roll, big deal! I was just glad that you didn’t hurt yourself - that was my biggest worry. I’d never forgive myself if any one of my friends hurt themselves because of me… but of course I’ll forgive you. You haven’t done anything that needs to be forgiven."
Winter smiled at Corv as he cheered up and hopped about the couch, turning his head to try and keep Corv in his field of vision.
When Corv exclaimed happily and bounced about, he could hardly keep himself from chuckling along to Corv’s happy voice. When his feathery friend was in a good mood, the positivity was infectious.
"Yes! This could very well work, but I think we might have to go looking for a comb that’s different from the one I use. A wide-toothed comb would be best for your feathers, I think. The one I use for my hair would be too fine, and could do more damage than good to your feathers."
He leaned back in the couch and tipped his head to one side a bit, inviting Corv to hop onto his shoulder.
"Shall we go on a comb-hunt before we find something to eat?"
"Perhaps, perhaps yes! A comb-hunt, a brush-hunt, a tool hunt for you and I, but not hunting for hunting but hunting for searching, yes. A good plan, advantaged as you are for knowing the layout, though?"
He takes the offered shoulder gleefully with a hop, talons clasping onto Winter’s sweater tightly as he tried his best to avoid smacking his friend in the ear with his wings. ”For I would not know, would not know, would not know where to find such a thing, a thing like a comb in your house? Besides in your hair, in your curls, and oh, is it not there? Is it not?”
Transfixed suddenly, he stares at Winter’s hair closely. After a moment, he pecks quickly at a loose curly strand, before chuckling to himself. “Haw haw haw! No, no, you can not hide from me, not in hair comb hair.” He leans forward a little bit, careful to not lose his balance on the shoulder. “It’s not in there, not in your hair, your comb, Mister Blue,” he announces, puffing up his chest a little. “Not that such a place would be a place for it to be kept, especially for a long time, but stranger things are happening every day in this strange world of ours, so perhaps I thought it just a chance? Perhaps, perhaps not, but you take care of such things now, don’t you?”
He pauses again, staring with wide beady eyes at Winter’s hair some more, a curious look on his face… before letting out a little huff, shaking out his wings and turning to face forward once more.
"Okay, and so now perhaps, let’s hurry towards where you keep such a thing for real, for actuality instead of hypothesis, and then perhaps a piece of food as well for this poor bird would be appropriate, yes? Yes, it would be, please. Caw."
He chuckled at his feathery friend. “No, No beaks or feathers I’m afraid. To preen I use a comb or a hair brush to keep my hair in place. Because my hair is a little… energetic in the morning, I look like a right mess after I wake up! You’d probably turn tail in fright if you saw me first thing, haha!”
At Corv’s sad cooing, Winter’s face shifted from fondness to concern.
"Are you sure? If it’s just the bread you’re uncomfortable with, I have lots of other food. Fruit and meats and sweets… no peaches, though." He said, smirking at Corv in a friendly manner. “I remembered.”
"But, I really was hoping you would join me for a snack, I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast and I’m rather hungry!" As if to punctuate, his stomach gave a light grumble, and Winter put his hand over his stomach as his face bloomed in a bright blush.
He shook his head again, soft bird cheeks brushing against his ruffled feathers as he attempted to hide himself even more, ducking his face down against his chest.
"Ah, ah, retrieving food should be prime, a point for you, then, Mister Blue," he mumbles into his black down, sounding very much subdued. “For me, for bird-man here, however, such a thing should not be afforded, no… not for stupid bird, who scratch and caw and crash all around for causing such a mess disturbance, oh… how shameful, how shameful! Although…perhaps?”
He suddenly whips his head back up, a small, coy smile on his face as he chirps. “Perhaps, perhaps! If you are to forgive, to think my regrets a silly thing for this time, perhaps I will entertain your offers and gifts for food, for I am also very hungry, and also, things happen. Silly bird things, and perhaps I should not feel so bad? Caw… it’s all so confusing, is it not, Winter? Such a weird.”
He sighs dramatically, hopping up onto the top of the couch near the top of Winter’s head, eying the hair there a bit… suspiciously.
"And oh, oh!! Combs and brushes!!" He nods excitedly, jumping a bit. “Combs and brushes, combs and brushes, yes, I remember! Combs and brushes! Do you think, do you think combs and brushes for feathers would work? Soft brushes, soft like feathers, perhaps… oh, oh, this might be an idea, a plan to try, Mister Blueberry. Hint hint hint.”
Winter couldn’t help but snicker a little at the sight of Corv spitting a mouthful of feathers out, the black feathers fluttering to the carpet in front of the couch.
"Preening isn’t easy for a human sometimes, so I can only imagine it would be more difficult for a bird! I’m glad you’re alright, I was worried about you. I am alright too, I’ve just been keeping myself occupied."
Winter walked over to the couch and sat down beside Corv on the armrest, watching Corv follow him and hop around in a little circle to face him again.
"Did you sleep well? Do you want to eat anything? I could bring you some bread in here for you to eat, if you’re not too comfortable with the kitchen. And I won’t… butter the bread, after the last fiasco with it." He said a little sheepishly, raising a hand to scratch at his head again.
Corv cocked his head to the side, staring at Winter with a look of confusion on his face. “Preening? Preening, for humans and you, but how so? No feathers on you, Mister Bluebery, no feathers for preening at all? Preen your hair, or your cloth, or your…. brows? Haw haw, preen your brows up!!” He cawed happily to himself, waving his wings a little in a show of delight - before catching himself, and scowling down at them, examined the wings for a second to make sure more feathers weren’t out of place. “No beaks on berries, no, is there not? How preening is difficult for you, then, perhaps too difficult… ah, ah, explains the lack of feathers, perhaps!” He nods a little, apparently very satisfied at this conclusion.
He hopped around on the armrest a bit, watching Winter talk with a fair amount of intensity on his small birdy face; with the mention of the bread, though, he frowned a bit, and pointedly looked away with a low caw.
”Ah, ah… stupid bird, stupid bird…” he muttered quietly to himself, shaking his head and ducking down a bit into his chest feathers. “Such a sad, a shame, a sorrow, and a silly, stupid display. Ah, ah…. not a good moment, for a bird-man such as me to act, behaving only as the bird, not as the man, not as the once-ler at all! Ah, ah, ah…”
He lets out a sad trill, sitting down on the armrest, a giant puffball of dark feathers. ”No, no, no food for me now, Mister Blue… it is alright, alright, alright. “
Winter himself was in his closet, looking at various sweaters and picking through his clothes. He had figured it was about time for his yearly cleaning-out of his closet: anything that he hadn’t remembered wearing in at least two months was getting donated, unless it had sentimental value.
His pile of “to be donated” was fairly large.
He sighed and tousled his hair, looking at his closet. How did he always get so many clothes…? He merely let out another huff before turning and leaving his closet, to get spare boxes from his factory. On his way down the hallway, he slowed down as he passed the door to his bedroom.
He thought he heard faint cawing and talking coming from behind the solid door, but he wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination. All the same, he decided to check in on Corv, and he opened the door quietly.
Over the arm of the couch he saw Corv up and moving, plucking at his feathers in a odd manner. Winter could only guess he was trying to preen himself. In an attempt not to startle the bird, he cleared his throat softly.
"Corv? Everything alright?"
Despite Winter’s efforts, Corv still jumped a bit at the other’s voice over the couch; his head darted to the side quickly, staring at Winter with wide eyes for a moment. His eyes soften a bit after a second, though, and he nods his head at him a bit before resuming his preening.
"Hello, hello Mister Blue, hello, good morning," he cawed softly, a bit muffled by the feathers in his mouth. “Alright, it’s alright! The everything, and the nothing, and the something, and are you? Are you- ptbbt!” He spat out of a bunch of feathers that had snuck too far inside his mouth, sputtering a bit before scowling down at his wing.
"Caw caw…. it’s not as easy as you would think, would hope, would dream of preening you know? Something easily difficult, that I should perhaps get the hang, the grip, the efficiently skilled ability of, but alas, alas… disgraceful. So bad!" He lets out another tiny bird sigh before crawling out of the sweater ‘nest’, shaking his wings out a bit more before jumping over towards the arm of the couch. “Anyways, anyways, it’s alright! It’s alright for me, and for you too, I hope? Correct?”
Corv stirred from his slumber rather abruptly. One second he was apparently sound asleep, laying limply in the grasp of Winter’s sweater on the couch, having hardly moved from his original position. But the next, with a loud squawk the bird once-ler jumped a bit, sitting up and head darting around rapidly, a pained expression on his normally chipper face. After a moment of this, however, he appeared to remember why he was in such unfamiliar a setting, and he settled down a bit, letting out a tiny sigh while sinking back a bit into his ‘nest’.
"Ah, ah…" he murmured to himself forlornly, lifting up a wing to inspect his rather tousled feathers, messed up in his frantic confusion before; it would take him quite some time to preen them back into shape. “Blueberry house. Blueberry house, and making a fool of… what a silly bird you are, silly bird, silly bird…caw.”
Hitting himself softly in the face with his wing, Corv took to trying to arrange the feathers with his beak-like mouth, but the preening motion looks almost… odd on him, as if he knew what it was supposed to be, but the instincts for it weren’t quite there.
”Gotta look nice, gotta look pretty bird….”
Preferred? Ah, ah, I suppose in some ways I can afford to be picky, yes, although in a pinch you can go with whatever you can find to make a nest, or just not nest at all if even that, though it is cold often and not a good rest, to perch and wait. That is, it is satisfactory to me in some ways, but the parts of me that remember beds! Haw haw, it is not the same, and distressing in some ways. Not that I care, but when I do…
Ah, ah. I prefer soft things. Twigs and the like for the outer parts, of course, of course, sturdy satisfactory, but for the insides if I can find something soft it is the bestest. Leaves, or hay, or grass. But oh, have you seen this land, this barren wasteland I’m calling a home now?! For nothing, nothing grows, and nothing is green or great at all, and there is not much to be soft, either, for nest or at all for anyone ever. So, so, so, I received a gift! A gift, from Mister Cold, or Blueberries, or Winter, of a scarf that I tried hard to wear but worn not to well with flying it was not. So, so, to the nest it went, and that is where I am keeping it for cozies and warm and soft, which is the best kind of nest to have, and there is no danger of losing it now, which was a problem before. Big problem, oh, oh.
In a way, though, are we not that alike or similar or different, perhaps? Soft nests are always preferred by us all, soft, soft. I doubt for your liking of twigs, haw haww!!!
Pigeons?? No, no. I’m not a big fan, I don’t think, but there are none around, no consorts for consorting. So I do not know, but I would think no, but I do not know the no, so it is really up in the air!! But not really, because if they were up in the air, perhaps I would find them, but they are not here.
Smog is awful for the lungs, you know. Be careful, be careful! They certainly are, wherever they are, those birds.
Ah, stories, stories… many stories, short stories and long stories, though not too long stories because they are many words and voices, which can be lost and forgotten. Shorter stories less forgot, but less told? Stories, words… such funny things, that we repeat back and forth and back and forth, to try to convey a lesson, a meaning, a word of worth. But what is the worth of a word, when the worthless even have worth? In nothing is there not something to be found, and in being found it is nothing?
Cawww. I’m not a fan of stories any longer, perhaps. When you become one yourself, the view through glass is changed, not a window or mirror but something else. A table? Perhaps!
.. to listen, but not to tell. I only tell one, but for others I am a mirror, even if I’m a table. Do you get??