Chirpy Bird

                                    

                                          
Mumbo pov 
After Scar finally wrapped up his rant, he seemed to decide that my office was now his personal hangout spot. He plopped himself into the chair across from the couch and made himself comfortable, propping his feet up on the desk like he owned the place.
I didn’t mind too much—it was Scar, after all—but it was clear he wasn’t here for anything specific. Probably just bored.
We ended up watching TV together, though “watching” might’ve been a stretch in Scar’s case. Every few minutes, he’d comment on something completely unrelated to the program, or he’d fiddle with his hat absentmindedly.
Meanwhile, Grian remained curled up against me, completely unaware of the world around him.
Well, mostly unaware.
Every so often, the TV would cut to a dramatic or intense scene, and like clockwork, a soft, chirpy noise would emerge from the bundle of blankets. It was faint, almost like a sleepy protest, but it was unmistakably Grian.
And honestly? It was adorable.
Scar didn’t seem to share my sentiment, though. The first time it happened, he jumped in his seat like someone had set off a firework under him.
“What was that?” he asked, eyes wide as he stared at the blankets.
I glanced down at Grian, who had already settled again, his feathers fluffing slightly before going still. “Relax, Scar. It’s just him. He does that sometimes.”
Scar frowned, clearly unconvinced. “He chirps?”
“Yep.”
“Like… a bird?”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Scar, he is part bird. Have you met Grian?”
Scar muttered something under his breath about “feathered weirdos” before settling back into his chair. But even he couldn’t deny that the occasional chirps were endearing.
As the evening wore on, the interruptions became more frequent. Grian would shift in his sleep, letting out a tiny chirp or whistle each time, almost like he was reacting to the TV. At one point, Scar tried to mimic the sound, earning a sharp glare from me.
“Hey, I’m just trying to communicate,” he said with a grin. “Maybe he’s dreaming about seeds or something.”
I shook my head, suppressing a laugh. Typical Scar.
Still, despite his teasing, I caught him sneaking glances at Grian every now and then, his expression softening ever so slightly. For all his antics, I knew Scar cared in his own way—even if he wouldn’t admit it outright.
By the time the show ended, Scar finally decided to head out, muttering something about needing to check on Cub. But before he left, he turned back and pointed at Grian one last time.
“Tell Tweety Bird he owes me for the free entertainment,” he said with a wink, disappearing out the door before I could reply.
I just shook my head, turning my attention back to the now peacefully sleeping Grian. Tweety Bird, huh? I’d have to let him know about that nickname when he woke up—though judging by the way his feathers twitched slightly, I had a feeling he wouldn’t be thrilled.
Apparently, I had leaned in a little too much to adjust the blankets because the next thing I knew, I was smacked in the face by one of Grian's massive wings. It wasn’t a soft brush, either—it was full-on feathery assault, followed by a sharp, indignant chirp from the culprit.
I winced, already bracing for the claws I knew were next if I didn’t fix this fast.
“Sorry, sorry,” I whispered hurriedly, carefully moving back to give him some space. His feathers fluffed in a show of annoyance, but thankfully, he settled back down, his wing folding neatly against him. Crisis averted.