"I see the danger, it's written there in your eyes"

by Amethystfairy1

Summary:

The worst part was the last few moments.

Straining for all he was worth, wings burning and aching with exhaustion built up to the roots. When his talons brushed the dirt, he felt the warning signs, pinpricks racing around his collar, letting him know he was about to make a mistake. Which wasn’t his fault. Grian was well aware of that much.

He’d crash-land anyway.

{In which Grian is suspicious of his new masters, Scar and Mumbo have zero clue how to take care of avians, the world is there to hurt, be hurt, or get stolen from, and in the end, someone always has to get lucky. Grian's hoping this time around, it'll finally be him.}

(Whumptober 2023: 4 - Shock)

Notes:

This is pretty dark, especially the opening chapter written for the prompt. Considering you're here for Whumptober 2023, I'm gonna go ahead and assume you're prepared for that, but just another warning right here that if slavery/torture/physical, emotional, and psychological abuse are NOT your cup of tea, please turn back now.

For those of you who are still here, I'd also like to note that this fantasy AU is a DIFFERENT AU from my day 3 submission for 'Solitary Confinement' just in case that causes any confusion, because this particular AU is going to pop up several more times in other submissions as the month goes on, while my thoughts for the other AU are still up in the air.

Please enjoy~

Chapter 1

The worst part was the last few moments.

Straining for all he was worth, wings burning and aching with exhaustion built up to the roots.

When his talons brushed the dirt, he felt the warning signs, pinpricks racing around his collar, letting him know he was about to make a mistake.

Which wasn’t his fault.

Grian was well aware of that much.

He’d crash-land anyway.
Then the shock would strike, pain ripping from beneath his collar, down his spine and triggering through his entire body. Blazing hot pokers stabbed into his muscles, his throat closed up so hard he could barely breathe. His eyes went blurry from the pain, the tension ratcheted into his wings, and they’d beat in sheer self-preservation. Dragging his exhausted body up off the earth and into the air again.

Rinse and repeat.

It was night, the stars were out and the moon was brilliant in the dark sky. Typically nighttime was a reprieve.

Grian had recently been sold by his former master into the markets, and the one who currently owned him specialized in dealing in hybrids meant as bodyguards. Protecting traveling merchants, or those of high standing. No one could be trusted quite like someone who literally couldn’t harm you if they wanted, nor disobey you without harsh punishment.

As an avian, he was already prepared for the job.

Because as an existence in themselves, avians were meant to be killers. Grian had been trained for that very task for as long as he could remember. Delving into the dimmest recollections of his childhood in his colony, that’d been all he ever did. Till he was sold off, ties were cut with any friends or family, and he was expected to serve whatever master he ended up with or die trying. That’s just the way it was.

Unfortunately, Grian had some aspects that made things difficult beyond his control. For an avian he was petite, and his wings were brightly colored. Red, blue, and yellow, banded like a macaw. So any sort of stealth killing was out of the question, and while he was more than capable he didn’t suit the image most high status buyers wanted in an avian bodyguard.

He was small and lithe, despite having broken twenty.

So most masters had used him as little more than a glorified pet. He’d watched over house parties and kept guard over manor homes, and in that time he’d certainly had to put his fighting skills to use, but it wasn’t what he’d been raised and trained to expect. Not like that was a bad thing.

It wasn’t a particularly good thing, either.

Then again, what would be?

Grian couldn’t have argued any one way, nor would he try. If he could keep whatever masters he ended up with happy, that was enough.

Wasn’t it?

This is driving me insane.

He concluded. That could be the only reason behind the way his mind was drifting through such morose topics. He beat his wings again, the force he put into them sloppy and unbalanced from sheer exhaustion.

The market he belonged too now was exceptionally sadistic. Keeping the wares skills sharp doubled as entertainment for the owners, and those fights tended to carry into the night. Grian always managed to hold his own despite being dwarfed at times by his opponents, but the problem had come when he’d gotten nearly flattened by a rhino hybrid, and considering in these fights he wasn’t allowed to draw blood with his razor sharp talons, asking him to win any other way had been cruel.

Which had been exactly the point.

As he’d flitted around trying to land some sort of a knock-out blow, he’d apparently let their masters grow bored, and the fight had been cut short early.

First sign of trouble.

Grian had seen the other hybrids who’d been around watching the sick spectacle, because they didn’t really have much else to do or any other options, tensing up. Averting their eyes, glancing toward each other.

The masters of this market never ended fights early, no matter how much they dragged. Until someone was out cold or on deaths door, it didn’t stop. They were all well-aware of that.

Grian had hoped for a moment maybe he’d come out on top, his heart had already been pounding so hard as the owner of the market had sauntered over, alcohol on his breath.

“You’re a pretty little bird, but doesn’t seem you’re much good at flying.”

He’d locked his eyes onto his talons when the man had stopped in front of him. His stomach twisted, and he fisted his hands behind his back as he tried to keep them from quaking.

“I-I’m sorry, sir. I’ll do better next time.”

An empty promise, but whatever. He’d say what he needed to get out of this situation.

“I’m sure. But it’d be awfully mean of me to expect that without giving you any chance to get better, wouldn’t it?”

There was no right answer to that question. Grian had already known it.

The other owners of the market were commenting to each other behind their palms, and the rest of the hybrids had all shrank as far from the little avian in the center as possible.

“U-Um, it’s…I can manage, sir.”

“Can you? But I don’t want to watch a snooze-fest like that again. So I’ve got a better idea.”

Night had fallen completely by now. Enchanted crystals hung on strings lit the circumference of the open yard behind the main marketplace. The stars and moon were too far above to offer any help.

“You’re not allowed to touch the ground till sunrise.”

That order had taken hold in the enchanting runes etched into Grian’s collar, and that’d been that.

Which left him where he was now, circling above the yard, wings straining, exhaustion swimming his vision and pulsing in his muscles.

He had no idea how long he’d been at this, nor how much longer he had to keep it up. It was still dark, and the order of staying up in the air didn’t contradict an order from when he’d first been purchased by the market limiting how high he was allowed to fly.

Only twice the height of the building.

Which was nothing.

It meant that instead of launching himself thousands of feet airborne and then just coasting in slow spirals back down, his wings were constantly working.

If he went to high, he got shocked.

If he hit the ground, he got shocked.

It was maddening.

He frantically forced another beat out of his wings to pull up from just a fraction of space between his talons and the dirt. His heart battered against his ribcage as his wing roots screamed in pain. They were meant to carry his weight, and if he’d been flying normally, which would mean short periods of sharp turns and motion followed by long stretches of gliding or gently dipping his wing tips to move, he’d be fine. He could fly for well over a day at a time before needing to touch down if he were doing it like that.

The conflicting orders forcing him to remain close to the ground without touching it, though, meant he had to continually force himself into tight spirals, sharp lifts and harsh turns. The force that put into his wing roots was nothing major the first couple hours.

But by now?

It felt like someone was tearing his wings off.

An agonized, stressed keen warbled in the back of his throat as he gained elevation. He tried gauge the height by looking over at the marketplace building, and as he did he saw the sky beginning to turn warm.

Sunrise!

Relief sank into his bones.

As he sailed upward, he felt the pinprick warnings circling his collar and halted his rise, knowing that meant he was nearly as high as he was allowed to go. He flexed his wings out, letting them fill with air and slow his descent. Wobbling in spirals, he desperately tried to wheel himself close to the same height. The ground was still coming up the meet him, as it had so many countless unbearable times all night long.

He turned his eyes over the market again, heart leaping into his throat as he begged the sun to rise faster. As he approached the dirt, he felt his wings folding, exhausting drawing them in toward his back.

But again, as his talons brushed the ground, pinpricks rushed through his collar, and he keened again, low and hurt. Even if it felt like knives circling his wing roots and being drawn down his spine, he beat them again, sailing up once more. This time as he rose his head swam, going light as he snapped his wings out to spiral down again.

On every turn, he looked out to the horizon where the rosy fingers of dawn were streaming up to overtake the stars. He was so tired, every muscle in his body ached from straining and his wings hurt. They’d never hurt so acutely as this in his life, not even during long days of hellish training as a kid in his colony.

Just as his talons were about to brush the dirt, Grian made out the very edge of the shimmering orb of the sun.

When his talons lifted and his feet hit the ground, there were no pinpricks.

He collapsed. He failed to slow his momentum and tumbled over once before landing face-first onto the dirt, wings splayed out near the fence. Bitterness roiled his stomach and tried to climb up his throat, and he was sure if he’d had anything to eat in the last twelve hours he’d have retched, but there was nothing in his stomach to retch up. His muscles seized on him, cramps knotted his spine and he tried to smother anymore high, helpless keening cries of pain best he could. Last thing he wanted was to wake anyone, especially not one of the owners. All he wanted was to lay here in the dirt and not think about moving for awhile.

The racing, jittering, white-hot pain unwound after a few minutes, entering into a bone-deep ache that made him feel like he’d been beaten all over.

Thoughts stopped linking at some point, and sheer exhaustion left him blacking out.

Notes:

So Grian had a really bad night ;-;
As I've said for many of my whumptober fics, if this whump-tacular conclusion isn't how you want to leave things, please subscribe because I have a second chapter already written and I plan to post it soon! Hopefully tomorrow or the day after. The second chapter will hark the arrival of con artist elf and rogue duo Scar and Mumbo, and maybe Grian will get the chance to finally get lucky, but in the meantime, he's passed out in the dirt alone. Poor baby ;-;
Please drop a comment and let me know what you think! And please stick around for the rest of my whumptober, I plan to do all my fills in the Hermit/Traffic/Empires fandoms so there's lots more to come! Thanks for reading!

Chapter 2

Notes:

This accidentally blew up into something way longer than I had planned, but the idea was there and I couldn't help but see it through! So there will be one more chapter after this one to wrap up, I plan to post it either tomorrow or the day after, we'll see!

Please enjoy~

Scar

 

“Are you completely sure about this?” His companion asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Mumbo, my friend, you worry too much! This is a golden opportunity!” Scar replied, jauntily waving one hand. With his other he balanced his weight with a cane, formed from swirling light-colored wood that had dark knots and whorls mixed through it. He wore a green flowing robe with gold accents over a white shift and dark fitted trousers. A corset belt cinched in his waist. It was quite the combination compared to the smart folded collar, red tie, and light, leather rogues armor on his friend.

Scar ran his free hand back through long dark brown hair, parting beneath a flower crown he’d grown to make sure he was playing the ‘naive nature elf’ vibe just right.

Scar was a nature elf, no doubt about that. With prominent pointed ears and powerful magic, but that was where any assumptions had to come to an end. He had a lot of names, plenty of personas, but the underlying point was that Scar Goodtimes was a professional con artist. He’d grifted and smooth-talked his way into a fortune alongside his ‘business’ partner Mumbo.

Who, despite having pulled countless jobs with him, still managed to be unbelievably anxious every time.

“Look, I know these guys have dirt on them, but seriously, it’s not like you to take a job from the guild!” Mumbo hissed as the marketplace they were visiting came into view.

Scar had insisted they arrive just after sunrise, catch their ‘clients’ groggily out of bed, and spin them a yarn they wouldn’t soon forget. He was already plotting countless ideas for how to play this with a smirk on his face.

“I take jobs for coin, Mumbo! The guild offered me coin! And also to turn a blind eye to any fun we get up too in this region for the rest of the summer, and that is something I’m willing to be charitable for.” Scar snapped his fingers, and Mumbo heaved a ragged sigh.

“…still, I know you’re going to take this too far.”

“Hm? All I gotta do is smooth-talk him while you snoop around and grab whatever looks incriminating, we’ve pulled this bit a million times!”
“It’s a hybrid market! Specializing in bodyguards! Do you have any idea how many dangerous hybrids are gonna be pointed at us if they get suspicious!?” Mumbo groaned and buried his face in his hands.

Scar scoffed. “If they get suspicious, Mumbo! If!”

They were closing in on the market, and it seemed like no-one there was even awake yet. But Scar’s eyes were drawn to something brightly colored lying crumpled on the ground near a fence in the yard attached to the market building. As they approached, he focused in on the sight, and let out stifled noise of surprise.

“Is that an avian?” He asked, and Mumbo saw what he was looking at. His shoulders immediately climbed up to his ears again, tense as always. He wrung his hands.
“Sure is. Poor thing looks like he’s passed out.”

Scar sped up his gait as much as possible, cane leaving imprints in the dirt path as he came up to the fence, looking over it.

Lying on the ground there was an avian, alright.

With beautiful, brightly colored red, blue, and yellow banded wings splayed to either side of his bare back. He was wearing a backless black top, leaving the long roots of his wings exposed alongside lithe, muscular shoulders. Several prominent scar stood out along his lower back, including one that looked worryingly like a branding iron. Baggy trousers cinched in tightly at his waist that were clearly oversized for him. From the rolled up pant legs emerged black, taloned legs like a bird, with inward turned knees and an opposable claw. His face wasn’t visible beneath another two sets of tiny wings emerging from his temples, colored same as the larger ones, and a mop of light brown hair. Scar heard Mumbo audibly gulp at the way the razor-sharp talons gleamed in the early morning sun.

Scar looked over him for a few more seconds, before he thunked one of his boot heels on the dirt. His emerald green eyes sparked gold, and fairy lights emerged from the earth. They flew between the fence posts. Twisted and twirled above the little avian, flashing and glittering, before they hurried to return to Scar’s outstretched palm. The elf worried his lip.

“He’s ok, just exhausted. Doesn’t seem to be seriously injured, only minor scraps and bruises.” He reported as the fairy lights swan-dove from his palm to sink back into the ground at his feet.
“That’s a relief.” Mumbo agreed.

Then a loud voice boomed out over the yard. “Who goes there?”

A large man with clothes rumpled, having clearly just rolled out of bed, peered out from the doorway into the market.

Mumbo jumped about a foot into the air with a stifled shriek, and Scar just leaned his free arm upon onto the fencepost in front of him.

“Why, hello there, my good man! A fine morning, isn’t it?”

The man’s still sleep-bleary eyes narrowed, and Scar saw the moment he picked up on just who he was talking too.

Elves were symbols of various aspects of the elements, and Scar being a nature elf meant the earth around him reacted to his will. They also tended to be naive to the ways of the world, many leading isolated, mainly solitary lives in deep forests or elven territory.

Scar knew he looked like an easy mark. He played it to his advantage constantly.

“A fine morning, indeed! Forgive me for not coming to greet you properly dressed, you’ve caught us before opening!”
Scar made a noise as if he was surprised, turning his eyes to Mumbo.
“So most places don’t open at sunrise? That’s nothing like home! Why didn’t you say anything?”
Mumbo realized they were playing roles now, and pressed his knuckle to the large mustache adorning his upper lip. “W-Well, you just seemed so…so excited to get going! I couldn’t stop you!”

Scar puffed his cheeks like he was frustrated. “But now we’ve made trouble for this poor man!”

He gestured, and the man came across the yard despite still being in hastily thrown on clothes. “No, no, it’s no trouble! What can I do for you gentlemen?”

Scar took a breath, about to deliver the sham story he’d come up with on his walk over, so he could drag the man into conversation, get into the market building, and get Mumbo snuck away to seize what the guild needed.

Before he could launch into his performance, a soft whimper came from the avian still passed out on the ground. Scar looked down as the brightly colored wings ruffled, the feathers shifting, and then pulled in against his back.

Or well, they tried too, only making it half-way before a badly concealed whine of pain sounded out.
“Quiet, you!” The man hissed, and Scar saw the collar around the avians neck spark momentarily with red enchanted runes.

Then he jerked up to sit back on his knees, bird-like legs folding beneath him. Dark eyes shot open, darting around to place himself in space, and immediately they laced with discomfort. Scar imagined another sound was about to get out of him, to express the pain he was in, but the red enchanting runes glimmered again. The avian snapped his mouth shut, gritting his teeth as he lowered his head. His hands fisted against the dirt either side of him, quaking.

He’s in pain. What happened?

Scar wasn’t sure. His fairy lights could only tell him so much, and from what they’d conveyed the little avian wasn’t in any specific way injured. He was just incredibly exhausted. But what had pushed him to that point must’ve been brutal, and Scar imagined soreness was the main source for his pain now. He shot a glance up toward Mumbo, who was also looking down at the little avian with concern obvious in his face.

Scar was no stranger to the practice of enslaving hybrids.

He’d grifted his way across the better part of the continent over the years, and he’d always found the institution as a concept deeply unsettling. What even excluded him? Scar himself wasn’t human, but somehow elves were considered as a different sort of other. But he wasn’t here to debate morality today, and he certainly wasn’t qualified for it.

By no stretch of the imagination was Scar a good person.

Yet even still, he found words spilling off his tongue before he could stop them. “Actually, I wanted to buy him.” He pointed down at the little avian.

The head of light brown hair immediately snapped up. Dark, round eyes stared at him owlishly. His mouth fell half-open, like he was considering making comment, but the red runes glowed, and he winced, dropping his jaw shut again. Tension had been present in his frame since the second he’d regained consciousness, but it coiled tighter when Scar said this.

The man standing over him furrowed his brow in confusion. “You want…this one? But…well, perhaps you’ve never frequented a hybrid market? Especially if you’re new to travel! Why don’t you give me some idea of what you’re looking for, and I can show you some of our wares more suited to the tasks. I’d absolutely hate to send you away a dissatisfied customer because I let you buy the first hybrid you saw.” The mans sickly sweet attitude made Scar’s stomach turn, but he played it back with twice the skill.

“But I just think his wings are so pretty! Don’t you?” He looked again to Mumbo, who gave him a warning glare at continuing to put him on the spot.

“Y-Yeah, yeah! Quite…quite pretty!”

Scar did notice that when he saw that, the little avian’s wings ruffled softly. He privately wondered if he were happy or surprised at the praise. He wasn’t joking, they were beautiful. Vibrantly colorful with bands of yellow, red, and blue. But more than anything Scar was just playing up the idea that he was stupid enough to buy a hybrid specialized as a bodyguard for something like that.

The man looked over the two of them with bemusement, before he put his palms to the sky. “If you insist, then I wouldn’t stop you! But why don’t you come inside and have at least a brief browse around before you decide?”
Scar gave a drawn-out hum, as if considering. “Well…I guess it couldn’t hurt…alright, let’s go!”

“Come around to the front, then, gentlemen! I’ll let you in there.”

“Ok!”

So Scar and Mumbo began making their way up the path as the man turned on his heel back toward the entrance to the market building within the yard. As he did, Scar felt the eyes of the avian kneeling on the ground staring after him, and hesitated. Then he turned, looking back over his shoulder. He cupped his free hand to his mouth as if to conceal his words from the market building.

“I’m still gonna pick you, little birdie. Just hang tight for a sec.”

He saw the two sets of tiny wings shoot up when he said this, and turned back to face forward before any strong emotion reached the avians face.

“Are you actually gonna buy him?” Mumbo hissed, having not been sure if Scar was being serious or playing another role.

Scar nodded. “Yup! Been getting boring with just the two of us on the Swagon!”

“We are not calling it that.”

“We are too! Besides…I dunno…somethings telling me I’ll regret it if I leave him behind. And I always trust my gut.”

“I know, it’s gotten us into some terrible binds.”

“And even greater rewards! So let’s get some dirt on these guys and bounce!”

 

Grian

 

Pretty wings?

He considered as he watched the elf and the rogue walk toward the market building. It seemed like the elf had to rely on his cane to stay upright, and the taller rogue stayed close at his elbow.

But no, Grian was stuck on the initial point.

Had they been serious?

Was that elf really planning to buy him just because his wings were pretty? But something about the two of them had seemed a bit off.

Grian had grown well used to reading people, it was a matter of life or death for him. Telling a masters mood or seeing trends in an opponent locked in a death struggle, either way he needed the skill. He’d polished it the same as everything else in his arsenal.

So as he sat kneeling on the dirt, wings weakly slumped behind him unable to fully fold in because of how brutally sore they were from his punishment overnight, he turned his gaze over the feathers.

Again, he wasn’t convinced that them being pretty enough to buy him over had been the truth, but the elf had spoken with such an even tone it was hard to place. The rogue had seemed nervous, but then, Grian had gotten the sense he was nervous and jitter most times. Then the way the elf had assured him that he’d still choose Grian, even after browsing the other wares. He wasn’t sure if he should take solace in that. Honestly? Anything would be better than staying in this market, especially because he’d apparently earned himself the sadistic eye of one of the owners. So he ought to try and ensure this elf actually did buy him. He’d heard rumors that elves were typically naive and solitary folks, and in his time being bought and sold over the continent Grian had never met one before today.

Maybe he’d be a kind master?

He’d never dare hope for too much, but at least better than this. Idly he reached a hand back, eyes twitching, the wings on his head flinching at the ripples of soreness that ran through his exhausted muscles. Slowing down, letting out a breath, he relaxed enough to let his fingers brush over the rough, scarred skin on his lower back. He traced the patterns, memorized without any need to see them. He paused with his fingertips over the crest, feeling weary again. One of his previous masters had taken to branding all his hybrids, as wholly unnecessary as it was with the functionality of the collars. Not like he got to complain.

He’s got to be better than that guy.

It must’ve been a rather rueful thought. He pulled his arm back in front of himself, reaching up and carding back light brown hair. Wiping the dirt smears from his cheeks that’d still been there from his crash landing. Then he turned his dark eyes back out onto his wings again.

…are they that pretty? ...his were prettier.

He ached all over, introducing heartache into the mix wasn’t ideal. Still, his little cousin with his brilliant golden wings was far more a fit for someone worth buying off sheer looks. Not like Grian knew what he looked like today. Last he’d seen him had been six or seven years ago, when Grian had come of age to be sold away from the colony, and all ties were cut. He was younger than him but only by two years. He’d have been sold into the world by now, as well. So he had to be out here somewhere. However, even if he ran into Jimmy somehow, they could no longer refer to each other as family.

But that was something else entirely, all to say Grian definitely didn’t believe this story that the elf only wanted to buy him because of his brightly colored wings. He didn’t believe it.

He didn’t.

He still reached back and tried to brush some of the dirt from his feathers to make them more presentable, anyway.

Time ticked on, the sun slowly climbed up into the sky as morning awoke. Grian could hear the other hybrids and the market itself coming to life, and he knew opening would be soon.

Then, he felt the softest phantom buzz encircling his collar. Different from the pinpricks that warned of potential mistakes, this one was like a warm fluttering that rushed through the runes and vanished as fast as it came.

Grian blinked, then turned his eyes up to the sky.

Masters changed.

He knew the feeling, had felt it plenty of times before. That elf must’ve kept true to his promise and decided to buy him. The exchange had gone down inside. Which meant the orders previously restricting him were gone. The blue sky of dawn was wide open, and there was nothing stopping him.

Well, aside from the near-unbearable soreness in his wings, and his whole body feeling like he’d taken a flying start into a tree. That, and the fact that he wouldn’t have tried to escape anyway.

Where would I even go? And besides…I’d never get far exhausted and starving.

It was pragmatic as it was unthinkable.

But that’s just how it had always been.

Grian heard the back door to the market opening and saw the elf being led out alongside the man who’d come out initially, one of the owners. A different one than the man who’d given the cruel order to him the night before.

“Thanks so much for the behind-the-scenes tour, that was fascinating!” The elf gushed, a wide, beaming grin on his face.

“It was no problem at all! See? I told you he wouldn’t go anywhere.” The man commented, gesturing toward Grian still sitting exactly where he’d been left.

The elf nodded along. “I see, I see! And would you tell me again about how your market runs during the day? I think I’ll have to skedaddle before I can see it, which is a shame!”

Grian watched the continuing conversation, and only saw his suspicions confirmed. This elf was not nearly so naive and uninformed as he claimed to be. His voice, his reactions, none of it read like someone eagerly learning something new, though it was a close imitation.

Something was going on here.

Grian cast his eyes briefly past who he was assuming would be one of his new masters toward the door again.

Where’s the rogue?

He thought to himself, though a mixture of exhaustion and relief kept him from overthinking. He’d been sold to the elf. At least he wouldn’t have to spend another night hoping he wouldn’t be chosen for constant cage matches for the market owners amusement anymore. He was already adding the night before to the list of the absolute worst punishments he’d ever received, so anything this elf could do would be preferable.

Or so he hoped.

Meanwhile, the elf continued to gush over the owners words, easily keeping him talking by stroking his ego, and after awhile the rogue came stumbling out from the market door. He was tall and thin, his expression read further anxiety.

“There you are! That place is like a maze behind the counter! You finished already?” He called out to the elf.

“Yup! You take forever! Well, it has been wonderful talking to you, but we should really get going. I’ve got a lot of world left to see!”

“I wish you all the best on your travels, and thank you for your business.”

He then sent a glance over to Grian, which was all the prompting the avian needed to realize he was being sent off as well.

It took some real concentration to convince his legs to straighten up, and he tried to minimize the wobble of his knees. A burning ache traveled through from the spindly bird-like legs up into his hips where his weight pressed down. Soreness plagued each step, but he managed to keep himself moving smoothly as he came closer and bent his head. Waited. If his new master wanted him to speak, he’d prompt him too, and it was always better to wait for permission than assume it was given.

“Perfect. Alrighty, thanks so much!” The elf turned his attention away from Grian to the man, and then he was making his way toward the gate back out onto the path.

The rogue came to his side straight away, and Grian trailed them, somewhat perplexed. Typically new masters placed some ground rules on his collar straight away, things like not being allowed to fly very high, or staying within their sight so he couldn’t bolt, but apparently the elf had no intention of doing that. He wasn’t sure yet if the rogue had also been added to his contract as a master, but he supposed he could clarify that later. For right now it seemed the duo was in a hurry, and he was just struggling to convince his exhausted legs to keep up when both their strides were so much wider than his. The elf was a head taller than him, the rogue two and some change. Grian was small, it’d been a problem for ages, but that was apparently what’d gotten him sold.

Though I’m not sure how to feel about that.

He thought to himself as he followed behind, the market dropping out of sight as they turned the bend.

Good riddance.

“Scar! I did it!” The rogue rounded on the elf, hissing this.

“You did it!” Scar, his name must’ve been, pumped his fist.

“I knew I could count on you, Mumbo! A consummate professional!” He insisted excitedly.

Grian watched in confusion as the rogue opened his palm, and magic swirled above it. Then a stack of papers fell out into his hands.

“That was so stressful…ugh…” Mumbo laid his head back as Scar eagerly peered over the papers, not reaching to take them seeing as he still supported his weight with his cane on one arm.

Scar giggled with glee. “It was perfect, now we’ll have the run of the region all summer long! Oh, what fun we’ll have, my friend!”

Mumbo looked down at him skeptically as he caused the papers to once again disappear into some sort of magical storage.

“…annnnd speaking of friends!” Scar stopped, finally turning to look back at Grian.

He quickly pinned his eyes down onto his talons.

“Aw, no need to freak, sorry, we just grabbed ya and bolted didn’t we? Kinda rude.”

Grian wasn’t sure if he was meant to reply to that. So he didn’t, just nodded stiffly.

“Well, my name is Scar. This is Mumbo. I suppose we’re…your masters? But I hate that word, so don’t worry about that.”

Hate that word?

Grian dared to peek up from behind his bangs and slowly lifted his chin to meet Scar’s eyes. The man smiled. Grian took note.

He prefers making eye contact, ok.

He had to start building a list for how to keep these two happy. He turned his gaze up to the rogue, Mumbo, who smiled gently from beneath a very impressive mustache.

Him too. Eye contact when talking, then. Got it.

Having that checked off the list put him a bit more at ease, but now he had to move on to the next issue. So preparing a few apologies in the back of his head, he spoke. He kept his voice as quiet and level as possible without being too soft to the point he’d be asked to repeat himself.

“If you hate that word, what should I call you?”

Important thing to know.

He’d never had a master who didn’t expect to be called just that, but if Scar didn’t like that word he was sure he’d be given an alternative.

“Just call us our names!”

Grian blinked, sure he was misunderstanding that somehow.

“Your…names?” He repeated back carefully.

Scar nodded, and Mumbo put a hand up. “We weren’t planning to buy a hybrid today, so this isn’t exactly planned out, mind you.”

Not planning too buy one? So am I on thin ice? Is he saying this is a short-term? They’ll re-sell me soon?

Questions were piling up, but all of those went far beyond the realm of what was acceptable to ask of a new purchase. Grian knew what the boundaries were, he’d experienced them so many countless times over the years. He’d already demanded enough, so he just nodded as if he understood and kept quiet.

If they aren’t big on title, I’ll just make sure it’s obvious who I’m talking too if I need to talk. That should be enough.

He concluded. Meanwhile Mumbo and Scar had just exchanged a glance that could’ve been an entire conversation for all Grian knew, and then Mumbo looked down at him again.

“So what’s your name, then?”

Alarm bells went off.

My name?

When was the last time someone who wasn’t a fellow hybrid had asked him that? Had it ever even happened before? No, no, now that he thought about it, Grian was certain he’d never given his name to any of his previous owners. Even in the colony, everyone had already known him, and the moment he’d been sold he’d been made to cut all ties. That included his name. That didn’t mean he forgot it, no, of course he knew he had a name, even if he wasn’t supposed to, but what was the right answer?

Was this a test?

Surely they knew avians were killers who remained nameless?

Or were they actually as naive as the elf had seemed to play up back at the market? Grian was confused and unclear, two things that were never good when trying to lay the groundwork with a new master. Understanding the rules, knowing where there was give and where things held firm, was the most important thing. The early days before he knew those limits were the most precarious. He swallowed a tightening coil in his throat and selected his reply.

“I don’t have one.” He managed to say it smoothly, in one breath.

Mumbo flinched, Scar’s eyes turned somber, and Grian felt his panic spike.

“Y-You, I…please call me whatever you like.” He half-mumbled the rest of the sentence which would’ve been detrimental in some places before, but today as he looked back and forth between Scar and Mumbo’s faces the two of them only looked sad.

Which was bad.

That meant he’d done something wrong. Had he picked wrong? Should he have just said his name? But avians weren’t meant to have names once they left their colonies, and if he admitted he still clung to his even if he only heard it echo in his own mind, or mumbled it under his breath to ensure he kept it close, that’d be admitting a mistake. Mistakes meant punishment.

So he’d been bad.

Bad.

Ok, bad was simple. Just apologize and hope the punishment would be light.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to upset you.” He said, bowing his head.

“You didn’t upset us! We were just…surprised.” Scar quickly assured him.

Grian was suspicious of the quick acceptance of his apology, but he figured he’d take it. When he looked back up at the two of them again, they were doing that thing they’d done a few seconds before. Looking at each other, like they were somehow mentally comparing notes on him.

Then, Scar’s emerald eyes swept up and down. “You’re exhausted, aren’t you?”

That was a weird pivot, but Grian hurriedly shook his head. “I’ll be alright, but thank you for your concern, sir.”

Scar’s expression screwed up and before the little avian could process the stab of fear he felt at displeasing him again so fast, the elf waved his free hand. “No, no, please don’t call me ‘sir’ that makes me feel so old.”

“Me either, just so we’re clear. I’d really prefer not hearing it.” Mumbo piped up.

That was new, too.

Masters who didn’t like being called that, and didn’t expect other terms of respect tacked on either?

Weird.

These guys were weird.

But whatever. Grian wasn’t about to argue. He just bobbed his head.

“Understood.”

Maybe keeping things short was the easiest route here.

He believed that for about five seconds till Scar’s still worried expression turned to resolve, and he raised his free hand, turning his palm up. His emerald eyes gleamed gold. Grian felt his heart leap into his throat when green spirals of magic began to twirl above his open hand.

Panic spiked again and he crushed his head down, the tiny wings from his temples pinning back flat. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t realize, I didn’t understand, please, I didn’t…”

“Hey, hey, I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise.” Scar’s voice was deep and level, and Grian didn’t have enough time to wonder if or not he believed those words before Scar’s hand, still shifting green magic, landed gently on his shoulder.

The aches and torturous soreness melted away. His wings relaxed, and were finally able to fold in properly, forming a heart shape against his back. His eyelids felt heavy, and he swayed on his feet.

“You really were feeling bad, little birdie. I can’t believe you were still on your feet. You’re very strong.” Scar murmured to him, and Grian didn’t know what to do with the praise. He should probably thank him, but his tongue felt heavy in his mouth.

“I’ve got him.” Mumbo’s voice came as Grian couldn’t manage to keep his eyes open any longer.

He blacked out for the second time that day, which probably wasn’t very healthy, but this time he did so considerably more comfortable. His muscles weren’t aching, his wings weren’t cramping, and a headache wasn’t hammering behind his eyes. He knew he should fight this a bit harder, he had no idea what the deal was with these two, so strange compared to all the places he’d lived before, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He couldn’t bring himself to dredge up the energy to resist the wonderful, warm, pleasant abyss of sleep.

 

Scar

 

“What are we going to do?” Mumbo asked in a hushed panic.

He was keeping his voice down mainly on account of the sleeping little avian he had bundled in his arms.

Scar looked up at him quizzically. “What do you mean? We’ll drop by the Swagon, get him comfy, then head to the guild to collect our reward. Then we’re off.”

“Off to where? And how do you make an avian comfy? I know he’s tiny but he’s still way to light, what do they eat? How can you not have a name?”

Scar shook his head. “Mumbo, Mumbo, my dearest Jumbo, you really must get better at reading a room!”

He spiraled his finger in the air as they walked, and Mumbo glared down at him tiredly. “What?”

Scar looked at the avian with a sad smile. He looked peaceful in his sleep, as opposed to the obvious pain he’d been in passed out on the ground in the yard when they’d first seen him.

“Him not having a name? That was a lie.”

Mumbo raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re sure?”

“Sure as sure can be! I make a living on knowing this stuff!” Scar hummed, nodding.

The rogue’s shoulders slouched with relief. “That’s good. So he just didn’t want to tell us it, that’s all. Better than him just not having one.”

“I agree, but now I’m worried why he didn’t tell us.”

“He probably has some nonsense in his head about how we wouldn’t bother to use it or even care.” Mumbo pointed out with a sigh. His ruby red eyes traveled down onto the little avian’s face, head lolled to the side resting against his chest.

“…I don’t know anything about avians. I’ve seen a few, sure…but how they work or any specifics, I’ve got no clue. Do you?”

Scar shook his head. “No clue, my good man. Plan is still planning. Or something.”

“What does that even mean?” Mumbo sounded exasperated again, but Scar waved him off.

So they walked back to the town they’d gotten the guild job in. Parked near the city wall, close to the forest edge, was the Swagon.

Or well, Mumbo just called it their wagon, but Scar knew it was the Swagon. It was a large redstone carriage bed with six wheels on each side that had a veritable house perched atop it. Complete with a slanting green-planked and copper edged roof and a second floor balcony. It was a house on wheels, and Scar and Mumbo had been living, grifting, and on the run in the thing for years now. Scar took ahold of the handrail they had set up and hefted himself with a bit of difficulty onto the driving bench, which backed to the door platform. He unlocked the door and let them into the main living area. The upstairs loft was mainly a study space, but above that was a large bay window that viewed out the back of the Swagon that Scar thought would be perfect.

Mumbo closed the door behind him, magic swirled through the space.

Scar’s elven nature magic provided all the natural tripwires one could ask for. The very forest itself would warn him of approaching danger, meaning it took someone skilled enough to evade the notice of the earth itself to ambush them. Mumbo, as a rogue, used shadow magic, and he immediately planted shadow traps in every pool of darkness the mid-morning sun cast. Between the two of them their house was more like an impenetrable fortress. The little avian was still passed out, as Scar had intended through his magic. He desperately need the rest to recover from the incredible exhaustion he’d been feeling, if Scar’s nature magic had been accurate, which of course it had. Scar was still concerned about how he’d even ended up like that, but that was a problem for later. They set up a ledge by the bay window, piling it with pillows and blankets. Scar even caused a base layer of soft, fluffy moss to grow over it to make everything rounded.

Once that was all set, Mumbo boosted up there with his rogue wall-climbing skill and set the avian into the newly made nest.

His wings fluttered and rustled as they adjusted to be comfortable in the new position. He rolled onto one side, light brown hair mussing as the mid-morning sun poured over him.

Scar gave a satisfied huff, then beckoned Mumbo down to the desk below.

They still had work to do, and the little avian needed to sleep.

Notes:

Scar and Mumbo having no clue about avians is about to become a running theme this whumptober, and even after this initial story concludes I have plans to write a few more pieces that would follow this merry lil trio on their adventures XD But we've still got one more chapter to go before then, in the meantime please drop a comment with your thoughts I'd love to hear them! Thanks for reading!

Chapter 3

Notes:

I'm so glad folks seem to be enjoying this idea and AU so much! I'm really happy because I plan to use it for several more fics for my Whumptober prompts! I'm gonna be referring to it as the 'Traveling Thieves' AU so I'll be sure to say in the notes of other stories if they're taking place in here as well!

Please enjoy~

That Evening.

 

Grian didn’t remember the last time he’d woken up in a nest. Probably back at his colony, in the nest he’d shared with his sister and cousin.

He wasn’t allowed to think of them as family anymore, now that his ties had been cut. Dark eyes opened slowly, moving around to place him in space. He was on a large ledge of a bay window, high up off the loft below and the rest of the house even further down. It was a comforting spot. Being high up off the ground, and the window at his back let in warm rays of the sunset.

Sunset?

Grian’s senses sharpened, even though he felt forcibly weary around the edges of his mind. When he’d passed out again, it’d been just past sunrise, had he actually managed to sleep all day?

That was bad.

That was really bad.

He had new masters to keep happy and not only had one of them carried him back here, they’d fashioned him a nest and just let him rest?

Weird. They were really weird.

But aside from that, Grian still shouldn’t’ve managed to sleep the whole day away. He needed to establish his responsibilities, make sure he understood the new rules, so much had to be done when he came to live with new masters. First impressions were everything.

“So we’re headed north, right?”

Grian went still where he still lay in the nest, struggling to shake off the last effects of whatever magic Scar had used to knock him out. So when he heard the voices carrying up to his ledge, he held his breath. He scooted slightly forward on the pillows, beneath which was a layer of soft, fluffy moss he imagined the nature elf who’d bought him had created.

Scar and Mumbo were at a large table down below. It had a map and several scattered notes and papers all over it. Scar was sitting down, his cane leaned up at the corner of the table, while Mumbo was pacing, boot heels clicking a rhythmic tap on the wood floors.

“Sure are! There’s a couple cities I want to hit, then I’ve got some deals to make with a few crooked nobles at the estates by the mountains.” Scar hummed pleasantly, and Mumbo groaned.
“Not nobility again! After what happened last time? I’m pretty sure you’re still on a few hit lists out there!”
“Just me? You’re every bit as complicit, my dear friend.”
Mumbo grumbled again at Scar’s hand-wavy amusement over the topic.

Grian listened in, dropping his head to rest on his pillow again.

Are they…merchants? But I didn’t see any wares…then again, he is a nature elf, maybe he performs magical services? Then why crooked nobles?

“The money laundering was one thing, but when we nicked the Baroness’s ancestral signet ring we were on the run for almost a year!”

“But don’t you remember the payday? We were sitting pretty!”

The little avian was surprised at how his lips twitched toward a smile, amused at Mumbo’s obvious distress and Scar’s disregard for it. Besides, that had answered his question.

Thieves. They’re con artists.

Which made sense, considering the skill sets of the two of them. It was quite the unique pair, a nature elf and a rogue. Grian wondered if maybe they’d have him help. His brilliantly colored wings made him useless for anything stealth related, but he could certainly protect someone from any attempted hits, which it sounded like they were worryingly used too.

For few more minutes he laid there listening to them talk, bouncing ideas back and forth for possible routes and secluded places to park the Swagon, which was what Scar called this house on wheels and Mumbo categorically refused to call this house on wheels.

It was funny. Grian enjoyed listening.

That is, until hunger pangs began to make themselves known in his stomach, and he screwed his eyes shut. Scar’s magic must’ve done something to satiate them while he was sleeping, because he hadn’t eaten anything since dinner had been handed out at the market the night before. The fight, the punishment, passing out in the yard, getting purchased by Scar and Mumbo, sleeping all day, and now he was here. He hadn’t eaten anything for awhile. Even the concept of getting up just to ask for food was mortifying though, so he tried to ignore them a bit longer. He was comfy in his nest. He hoped maybe he’d be allowed to sleep here all the time, it seemed like it’d been set up for that, even if he wouldn’t dare to expect it. Eventually, though, he couldn’t manage anymore, and so he hesitantly sat up. His wings flicked and ruffled, feathers rearranging themselves from how they’d gotten rumpled as he slept.
“Oh, good morning, little birdie!” Scar called up to him, waving from his chair.

“It’s nearly sunset, Scar.” Mumbo commented, a huff of amusement making his mustache twitch.

“U-Um…hello. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep so long.” Grian wasn’t sure how to greet them, so he tried his best as he pushed down the blanket still half twisted around his legs and hopped to the edge.

“Don’t apologize, I made you sleep. You needed it, you were completely wiped out. I’m amazed you were even still on your feet.” Scar swept his concern away.

Grian tilted his head, large, dark eyes blinking. Then he dropped from the ledge and opened his wings enough to catch the air as he fell. He landed without a sound, knees bending to the impact, and crossed to them, looking between the two.

The rogue had stopped wringing his hands, sliding them into his pants pockets instead. “You feeling better?”

“Yes, si…”
They don’t like being called that.

“Yes, much better. Thank you.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.” Scar said happily, reaching out to grab his cane and standing up. He hooked the aid beneath his arm and walked around the table.

“Now that you’ve had some sleep, what do you say to dinner?”
The tiny wings on his head flitted excitedly, giving him away despite a totally neutral expression on his face. “Dinner? Have you already eaten?”
“No, not yet, we got caught up planning. Let’s eat together, come on.” Scar insisted, turned to head for the stairs, humming a tune off-key.

Mumbo watched him go, then shook his head with an exasperated sigh.

“He’s always got his head in the clouds. Don’t worry, you get used to it.”

Then he followed Scar.

The tap of the cane and click of the rogues boots played a song into the avians ears. He watched them go a couple seconds, trepidation squeezing in his heart.

I’ll get used to it?
He cast a glance back up at the nest on the windowsill, clearly so carefully assembled. The maps and notes and papers messily scattering the study space. Downstairs, he heard the clang of a pan hitting a stovetop, Scar badly attempting to whisper to Mumbo, asking if avians were allergic to anything he ought to know about.

Weird. So, so, so very weird.

But Grian’s shoulders unwound just a fraction for the strangeness.

He headed for the stairs, and didn’t bother focusing so hard on his steps. His talons scratched lightly on the wood, joining the sound of the cane and the boots.

Maybe he’d be allowed to get used to that melody? He’d like that.

 

One Week Later

Grian

 

They don’t make any sense.

Grian had drawn this conclusion about his new masters after seven days with them. He’d been waiting all this time for the other shoe to drop. For the orders to come, the demands and expectations. Yet he still had received nothing. The first day he’d been made to rest, which had been hell on his nerves as he’d been continuously convinced it was some sort of a test, or they had already concluded he was useless and planned to sell him at the next possible juncture. That hadn’t happened. Scar and Mumbo had finished their business at the guild in town and then they were off.

Grian had been practically piled with food till he insisted he couldn’t eat any more, then left in the cozy nest they’d made for him on the large ledge of a bay window in the moving house wagon that Scar called their ‘Swagon’ to recover for another whole day.

They must need me for something more strenuous, then.

That’d been the next conclusion.

Again, he’d been wrong.

As soon as he’d been able to prove he was capable of working again, it’d been nothing but the simplest, most mundane tasks. Just helping out around the moving house with little things that needed doing. And that had only come after he’d awkwardly pleaded with Mumbo that he was bored to tears and needed them to give him something to do.

Something. Anything. If only to prove he could earn his keep.

Because living with Scar and Mumbo for the past seven days had easily been the happiest week of his life. The two of them were a mess of energy and plotting and bad ideas. Grian had learned that he’d guessed right. They were essentially con artists. Not only that, but Scar certainly had been playing up the character of a naive elf just to run off with crooked riches. It was hilarious. So hilarious, in fact, that he’d found himself concealing giggles at dinner one night as Scar had animatedly recounted a recent mark.

The mere concept of eating dinner at the same table with them had been mind-boggling. But again, Grian wasn’t about to argue. Scar and Mumbo had insisted it was what they wanted, so that’s what happened.

Even if what they wanted seemed to be for the little avian to put on some weight, which Grian couldn’t fathom, but he didn’t complain.

Why would he complain about getting a full three meals a day for the first time that he could remember?

So Grian had tried to withhold his amusement at Scar’s tales, but twittering laughter had slipped out regardless, and his two masters had again shared that glance like they were talking to each other with their eyes, and his heart had frozen. Apology had littered the tip of his tongue, but then Scar had beamed at him even wider. Mumbo had started chuckling along.

They like it when I laugh?

That was a new one. That’d never gone on any of his lists before.

Today they were approaching the next city Scar and Mumbo had ‘business’ in and Grian wanted to ask what it was. Curiosity thrummed in his chest, but he didn’t say anything. He shouldn’t pry into his masters business. If they required him to work in service of that business, then he could justify clarifying with questions, but they hadn’t mentioned getting Grian involved at all.

Maybe I’ll just be guarding the Swagon?

He considered. That seemed plausible. Would that be his job? Holding down the fort, while somewhat boring, was certainly not the worst responsibility he’d received in all these years.

Right now, the avian was perched on the edge of his nest, one hand coming up, his finger tracing the line where his collar met skin.

They still haven’t given me any orders.

Out of all the things Scar and Mumbo had or had not done, this was the strangest of them. Without orders, Grian had no restrictions. He could do as he pleased. He could even run or fly away.

Not like he was planning on it.

A collared avian on his own would get hunted down in no time, wouldn’t he?

Grian couldn’t know, but he didn’t intend to find out. He was comfy with Scar and Mumbo. They’d been kind. Kinder than anyone he’d encountered in a very long time, perhaps in his entire life. Running away might risk angering them, and losing all these privileges.

As pragmatic as it was unthinkable.

That had been coming up a lot, huh?

He watched them down in the study loft, looking over a map, some sort of building layout. Seemed like they were planning out their next job. He watched and listened curiously.

Mumbo complained spiritedly to most of Scar’s more absurd ideas, but as they settled into a strategy, Grian could tell Mumbo trusted whatever Scar came up with to work. Now that that’d been settled, Grian saw Mumbo look back over his shoulder up at him.

Taking that as a cue, he slid off from his perch and billowed his wings to drift down and land on the loft.

The black-haired rogue towered over him, but his expressions were always gentle. “You want to come into the city with us for a bit of shopping? We’ve been holed up in the house—”

“Swagon!” Scar interjected, and Mumbo’s shoulders wilted.

“—all week.”

Grian kept his dark eyes on Mumbo’s face, searching for any signs of what the correct answer was. He concluded, as he had for most all of the questions he’d been asked that week, that there was no correct answer.

Mumbo was actually asking him.

“I’ll come with you.” He agreed, bobbing his head.

Grian hadn’t walked around a city in awhile, his previous master before that market had lived out in a manor in the countryside.

“Alright! Shopping trip!” Scar cheered.

Mumbo sighed. “Don’t go overboard. We’ve got a list!”

They started arguing over the list, and Grian watched, feeling his lips tug up toward a smile. The tiny wings on his head fluttered gently to express his relaxed mood. Had he ever felt this at ease before?

He still had to keep sharp, because of course things could change in an instant. There was no saying that this week was nothing more than a pity party, and the two of them were taking him into the city to sell him off.

But Grian trusted his instincts, the only things that’d ever gotten him through. He could tell Scar and Mumbo weren’t lying to him, at least not abjectly. So he didn’t feel nearly so much trepidation as he might’ve before when they left the Swagon, again covered with an arsenal of magical defenses, and headed into the city.

As they passed through the checkpoint, Grian pulled his wings in tightly to his spine and straightened up, ensuring his collar was visible. The amount of times he’d gotten a master or convoy stopped by scrunching down and hiding behind his wings in the crowded place and accidentally obscuring the thing was still fresh in his mind, and he didn’t want to bother Scar or Mumbo with that. He stuck close to them, and they made it through with no problems.

Then began the shopping, all of which was stored into Mumbo’s incredibly handy Thieves Hand magical skill.

“It doesn’t hold that much, but it’s good help when shopping for things that’ll spoil if you carry them around all the day.” Mumbo had explained to Grian as he’d vanished several loaves of bread into the palm of his hand, and the avian had watched with eyes full of stars.

“That’s amazing!” He crowed, a twitter warbling the edge of his words. He hadn’t even noticed it till later. So many masters before had gotten irritated when he’d let more bird-like vocalizations sneak into his speech.

But, as he was realizing, he really had to stop expecting Scar and Mumbo to act like any other masters.

“Ok, last stop!” Scar declared as he pushed open the shop door.

A clothing store.

Grian stuck close to Mumbo by the door as Scar happily browsed around, humming off-tune. He hadn’t seen Scar wear anything aside from the green robe he currently sported, and Mumbo had only changed in slight variation between his red tie, leather rogues armor and collared shirts.

“Birdie, what do you think of these?” Scar asked suddenly, and Grian straightened up when he realized he was being addressed.

Getting called ‘Birdie’ wasn’t the worst thing. In fact, that nickname in Scar’s deep voice made his wings ruffle pleasantly. He looked across and saw Scar beckoning toward him, wanting him to come closer.

“U-Um…I don’t know much about clothes.” He admitted as he edged away from Mumbo’s side and crossed the store to Scar. He could see the shopkeeper eyeing him distastefully, but apparently both his masters were blind to it. He pulled his wings in tighter and was careful his talons didn’t scratch the floor.

“Still! There’s gotta be one you think looks nice, or a color you like.” Scar prodded, and Grian sensed something amiss. He didn’t call him out, though, because even if he was slowly settling into the idea that these two were being genuine for all their oddities, he’d never dare admit in plain words he suspected falsehood.

So he looked up at the wall of clothes again, various shirts, dresses, and sweaters. Dark eyes slowly panned over the collection till they landed on a large red knitted sweater, it looked to be made of soft wool. Looked comfy and warm. Reminded him of the mossy base to his nest in the Swagon.

“…that one seems nice.” He said, pointing it out, and Scar’s cane clicked against the floor as he crossed to the red sweater and took it down.

“Matches your wings, huh?” The elf declared, holding the sweater up in front of Grian.

The avian shrank back from the fabric before it could touch him, shooting another furtive glance to the shopkeep whose expression had soured.

“I-It does, doesn’t it?”

Discomfort made him feel like squirming, but Scar refused to let him out from under the spotlight of attention.

He held the sweater up again, lining it up with Grian’s shoulders as he made a considering hum.

“It’s a bit big, but I think it’ll work! What do you think, Mumbo?”

The rogue shrugged from where he was still standing by the door. “Not my sweater, now is it?”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t give an opinion!” Scar shouted, before he rounded on his boot heel towards the shopkeep.

“We’ll take this, please!”

Grian was still bewildered by the whole thing as they left the store and went back through the checkpoint. They’d just rounded toward the secluded area where they’d parked the Swagon when he heard something. It was distinct, a noise he’d heard a million times before.

The click of a trigger, and the twang of a bowstring.

Muscle memory kicked in, and he shot up into the air in a flurry of wing beats. Reaching up, he planted a hand on Scar’s shoulder, one taloned foot kicking out and slicing down the crossbow bolt midair.

“Whoa!” Scar shouted, stumbling back from how Grian had vaulted over him to stop the bolt, which now clattered uselessly to the ground. Mumbo caught the elf, and Grian narrowed in on his target. Heat flared through his wings, prepared to launch him into the sky, and the tiny ones on the sides of his head puffed out defensively. The would-be assassin was atop the city walls, they must’ve been lying in wait. In a rush of air, Grian hurtled up to confront them, taloned legs swinging forward. They left cracks in the stone on impact as the attacker rolled out of the way.

“An avian!? That wasn’t part of the deal!” Whoever it was spat from behind their mask. Grian didn’t give them any time to consider options, closing the distance as they tried to raise their crossbow and knocking the weapon away with a strike of his wingtip. The fight was like pages out of a well-loved book. Motions performed up to a perfect standard till the achievement was indisputable. The attacker drew a dagger and Grian parried it with a taloned kick. As an avian, he didn’t throw punches, fought mostly with kicks or swipes of his wingtips. A few furious blows were exchanged as he evaded the knife blade, then he flung his momentum backward and beat his wings once, flying an inch above the wall, dipping over it toward the city side. Using the dive to gain speed, he rocketed back up over the wall and brought a kick up and around. It could’ve been a death blow. If he’d opened up and bared his razor-sharp talons, he could’ve ribboned the would-be assassins throat open, or maybe even cleanly decapitated them.

He was tempted. It wasn’t like he’d never killed before, and this person had threatened his masters. If Grian had been a tick slower or more hesitant, Scar would be dead right now.

Dead.

The same face that had happily grinned at him and asked him his opinion on sweaters and made a comfy moss nest for him to sleep and insisted he sit at the table with them to eat. Insisted they’d be friends, the three of them. Even if Grian still grappled with believing it.

At the same time, he didn’t know if Scar and Mumbo would be alright with him killing, and his actions reflected on them. If he killed someone, they had to answer for it, for better or worse. So a closed-talon blow it was, and he followed through the blunt impact, whipping his hip through and snapping his wings to ensure maximum force.

Just because he wasn’t killing the guy didn’t mean he had to be gentle. The assassin dropped out cold, and Mumbo leapt over the wall to land beside him. Shadows slithered against the stone at his feet and danced beneath the skin of his arms from rolled-back sleeves.

Grian looked up to the rogue approaching and landed, straightening up. He tried to settle the nerves flaring up that he’d misbehaved, somehow, just taking off and catching the attacker without permission.

That was quickly wiped away when Mumbo bypassed the unconscious body on the floor entirely and clasped Grian by the shoulders.

“Are you ok? Did you get hurt?”

Dark eyes stared up at the man owlishly.

“No, sir, I’m fine.” Grian gave the reply on instinct.

“Didn’t I say not to call me that?” Mumbo wilted with obvious relief, and Grian gave an awkward one-note chuckle.

“Y-Yes, si…I mean. Yes. Sorry. Force of habit.”

Mumbo looked down to the unconscious assassin just as a rumbling of earth made the wall tremble.

“What happened!? Is he ok!?” Scar was shouting, the very earth reacting to his distress, and Grian felt his chest growing warm and tight.

In a good way. Strange way, but good way. Hearing so much fear and concern in the elf’s voice directed at him shouldn’t have made him so happy.

“He’s fine!” Mumbo shouted back down, then he let go of Grian’s shoulders.

“Go down to him, I’ll take care of this sorry punk.”

“Right.”

Grian took a few steps and hopped off the edge of the wall, sailing down with wings spread wide to a landing. He was immediately enveloped into a bear hug by Scar, whose cane fell forgotten to the side.

“Oh my stars you scared me so bad that was insane I mean that was incredible and you did a great job but still are you ok? Did you get hurt? That guy better not have hurt a feather on you!” 

Grian found himself assaulted with a flurry of words, and after a few seconds he awkwardly returned the hug, carefully patting Scar on the back.

“I’m fine. Didn’t even get scratched.” He reported.

Scar leaned back from him, and when he did his back leg caved under his weight.

“Hey!” Grian dodged forward, throwing his arms back around Scar’s middle and beating his wings a few times to hold the larger figure up.

“Sorry, sorry!” Scar sang his apologies with lightness in his tone.

“I got so excited I dropped my cane.”

Grian looked around best he could while still supporting Scar’s weight and spotted the cane. He carefully eased the elf back down to his feet and helped him over to it. Picking it up in his talons, he offered it.

“Thank you, Birdie.” Scar hummed, and the avian could tell he meant it. He felt the words rumble warmly in the elf’s chest from where he still was supporting him, waiting till he’d gotten his cane set back against his arm.

Once he had, Grian took a couple steps back, looking Scar up and down. He rubbed at one arm and pulled his wings back tighter, half-formed thoughts spiraling around in his head and dueling across his tongue.

Finally, he took a deep breath to settle his nerve.

“Um. My name’s Grian.”

Scar’s emerald eyes went wide and round, and an irresistibly fond smile drew up his lips. “…Grian, is that it?”

“Yes. Sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

“That’s totally fine, don’t you worry about it. I’m glad you told me now. Very glad.”

Mumbo appeared back over the edge of the city wall, using another rogue magic skill to wall-walk down to the grass and jog across to them.

“I turned’em in to the patrol, come to find out they were from the mercenary guild! I think one of our old marks has it in for you, Scar.” Mumbo reported, and Scar turned to him with a wide grin and eyes perhaps slightly misty.

Grian could’ve been imagining it.

“Well, they haven’t gotten me yet! And now we’ve got Grian to keep an eye on things, too!” He declared, the name rolling easily off his tongue.

“Grian? Who’s…Grian?” Mumbo’s eyes slowly panned onto the avian in front of him, who raised his hand from where he’d still been clasping at his other elbow.

“That’s me. Sorry I didn’t say sooner.” He repeated the apology, and the rogue’s expression only turned every bit as fondly beaming as Scar’s had.

“Nothing to be sorry for! I’m chuffed to bits that we’ve got you on board! Now I won’t have to keep Scar’s head pointed straight all by myself, what a relief.”

“No promises I’ll be able to help with that.” Grian let the jab escape him, when before he’d keep any thoughts like that firmly in his mind.

“Shhh, we can try!” Mumbo insisted, putting a finger to his lips.

Grian had to smother twittering laughter again at Scar’s dubious expression as he leered at Mumbo. “Are you claiming I don’t have the best plans ever in the whole wide world?”

“Never, never. Let’s go home.”

Scar cheered. “Yeah! All the attempted murder is making me hungry.”

He took the first few steps back toward the Swagon before he froze.

“Wait, wait!” He spun and pointed, and Mumbo took the cue and picked up the shopping bag with the sweater that’d been dropped during the chaos.

“Thank you, thank you.” Scar hummed as he took the bag and then peered into it.

He smiled, looked up at Grian again. “I’ll cut and sew some seams into the back of it when we get home, ok?”

The avian blinked, dark eyes growing confused again. “…seams for what?”

Mumbo chortled. “Your wings, silly, how else are you gonna wear it?”

The tiny wings on the sides of Grian’s head fluttered several times. “Wait, it was for me?”

Scar rolled his eyes fondly. “Of course it was, that’s why I asked you! Can’t have you just going around in nothing but a tank top all the time, it’s summer now, but we’re headed north, remember?”

“I read that avians run cold, is that true? Don’t want you catching a chill.” Mumbo mused.

Grian again looked between the two of them, trying to seek out any sense of falsehood. Yet again concern plagued him that this could only be a trick, or a trap, or some sort of test.

But again, he had to remind himself to stop expecting Scar and Mumbo to act like any masters he’d had before.

“You guys are weird.”

He declared bluntly, folding his arms with slumped shoulders.

Scar and Mumbo both stared at him, wide-eyed.

Grian didn’t have enough time to wonder if he’d overstepped before Scar cackled with laughter as Mumbo frantically pointed at the elf.

“Don’t lump me in with him!”

“But I’ve got so many other plans! So many plans! Plans of planning!”

“I still don’t know what that means!”

Grian giggled, high pitched and twittering, not bothering to try and smother out any of the bird-like chirps that carried through.

Mumbo and Scar bickered all the way back to the Swagon, and Grian walked beside them inside of behind them this time.

It just felt like the right thing to do.

Notes:

That's it for this one! It really exploded into it's own mini-story, whoopsie ;-; but I had fun and it seems like plenty of people liked it so I'm happy! Like I said above, this is gonna be called the 'Traveling Thieves' AU and I plan to use it for several more fics for whumptober this year. I've got plans for us to meet Pearl and Jimmy as well and see how they're doing in this backward fantasy world, as well as a surprise appearance from Tango who always gets roped into my whump fics XD But we'll be seeing plenty more of this trio as well! I intend to continue writing them as pretty much gen, just a trio of friends, but there will be portions that (could) be read romantically, choose your own adventure I suppose. But we're here for whump, not romance, so that's the main goal! Thanks so much for reading, please leave a comment if you enjoyed it and I hope you'll join me again for my next post tomorrow!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 4 of Amethyst's Whumptober-ish 2023
• Part 1 of Traveling Thieves {Dark Fantasy AU}