Chapter Text
"Did you already hear the news?" Mumbo yelled as he ran towards Grian who was hanging up his wet clothes on his clothing line. His wings were puffed up because of the weather. Summer was starting and there was moisture in the air, making his feathers all frizzled up. He waved at his friend who came to a stop only a meter away from Grian. Mumbo gasped for air. "Did you already hear the news?" Grian raised an eyebrow.
"What news?"
"Sir Scar from... Hermitville is coming... To our town." Mumbo said between heavy panting. His face was like a tomato, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and getting caught in his eyebrows and moustache. Grian's formerly raised eyebrows knitted together into a frown. Who was this Scar that everyone has been talking about? Grian didn't know him. And every time Grian tried to ask, someone would wave him off. They all thought Grian was joking, but in reality, he didn't know who this Scar-guy was? Was he a pirate, coming to steal all their gold and belongings? Or was he a prince, blessing people with his beauty? Or maybe a wizard and gifting people with knowledge. All were very much possible in Grian's brain.
"Who uh- Who is this scarred person that has been the talk of the town for weeks now?" Mumbo laughed.
"Scarred person? You mean Scar? The writer?"
"Writer?"
"Yeah! He's the next big thing! See him as Shakespeare, you know Shakespeare, right?"
"Of course, I know Shakespeare!" Grian smacked Mumbo with the back of his hand. Mumbo yelped, moving away from Grian and frowning, rubbing the spot Grian had just hit. "I'm no clodpoll!" Mumbo huffed. He never implied that, Grian was the one who did. He just asked if he knew Shakespeare.
"He's like Shakespeare, but from our area. He'll be the next big thing, I can tell you that much!"
Next big thing, next big thing... How stupid, Grian thought. How can one be the next big thing and Grian has never heard of them too! That couldn't be possible! Grian knows most things that happen around town. He knows the people, the secrets, the gossip. God, people loved Grian yet no one has actually told him who this Scar-person is. How do they know who he is? And how do they know he is as good as they claim he is? Grian found this whole thing a big mess. How could one ever think that this dude from literally the middle of nowhere, from a town that Grian has never heard of, this nobody? How does this nobody think they can be the next Shakespeare? How does that make sense?
Exactly, it doesn't. It doesn't make sense. And that's why Grian is going to make sure to really get to know this famous writer. When he is in town, Grian will make sure to see his shows, his readings, his plays. Grian will make sure to watch it all. Forget his job, forget the mines. He wanted to know who this guy was and if he deserved all the praise he was getting.
And that was the start of how Grian was sitting in a large open grass field. A man was standing on a wooden podium, reading from a leather-bound notebook. Grian saw how the guy also had wings, but instead of colourful parrot wings like Grian, they were a brown to white gradient, with brown strips through them. They were like owl wings.
"Mine love, I’ll miss thy touch like the summers warmth. I wilt miss thee like a song yond I did forget. I may kicketh the bucket from how much I miss thee." Grian rolled his eyes. When was this guy finally done with his twaddling because Grian was already sick of it? It was the same as every other writer ever. The same bleak lines, the same dreary delivery. Grian hated this.
"Oh, how I wish I couldst still see thy visage coequal but anon. I yearn for thy gentle hands caressing mine. I yearn for thy love again." Grian felt like he was going to fall asleep, that was how bored he was. He was playing with his fingers, counting the blades of grass and trying desperately to not let his eyes fall closed as the man just kept going on and on about his dead- or at least Grian thought dead- lover. It was an absolute pain to sit through.
"And I wilt wish upon the stars yond one day we wilt beest holding each other again." People started clapping and Grian was thanking the Lord that this show was finally over. Mumbo, who was sitting beside him, shoved Grian in his side.
"And? Did you like it?"
"No."
"What?" Mumbo looked at him like his eyes were going to pop out of his socket. What? How could Grian not like this? This man was going to be the person of the century and Grian didn't like it? "Grian, are you a fool? How can you say something like that!"
"I'm not a fool! You're the one who thinks this is great."
"Everyone thinks this is great! Not just me." Grian crossed his arms.
"Well, I think he has no more brain than a stone." Grian could hear an audible gasp. Not just from Mumbo, but from the others in the audience as well. "You heard what I said! I think this man's stories are half-witted! You all just think he's so great because he can read and write! But in reality, he's just another twit!"
"Grian!" Mumbo was standing there, bewildered at his friend. "You can't say something like that!"
"Why can't I?" That was something Mumbo couldn't answer either. He just had to accept that his friend, even though Mumbo absolutely didn't agree with it, didn't like Scar as much as he had thought he would. Mumbo always thought Grian was a man of taste, someone who knew what he was talking about. An eye for art and a soft spot for anything written, especially written by someone handsome. Mumbo knew Grian good enough to know what his taste was, or at least, he thought he knew. Turns out, maybe he was wrong after all.
"You're being too harsh," Zedaph said as he, Grian, Impulse and Tango gathered around to eat food. The three had a bunch of leftovers and they enjoyed sharing what they make. So this evening, Grian was sitting at their little hut to enjoy some of the stew they had made together with some of the slightly over baked bread. It tasted great, though. "He's genuinely a fantastic writer."
"Oh not you too, Zed," Grian groaned. He buried his head in his hands. He already knew the end of this story and he wasn't going to like it. Everyone just wanted the same. They all wanted Grian to like
this strange man who wasn't even from here. "He's just a mediocre artist. I mean it."
"Are we talking about Scar?" Impulse chimed in as he was done discussing something with Tango. Grian wanted to leave through the nearest door. He wasn't in the mood for this. "Did you see his show today, Grian? What did you think of it?" Grian didn't have time to answer before the ram hybrid already opened his mouth.
"He hated it," Zedaph answered for him. Impulse's eyes widened.
"What?"
"Exactly my thoughts! Imagine not liking Scar's work! He's amazing!"
"Yeah! Maybe, Grian, you just didn't understand what he meant with his work."
"It wasn't that hard to understand. It was just sleep-inducing. I counted every single blade of grass in that field two times! I just don't understand all the talk surrounding him since he's not even that good." Grian's eyes flashed around the room. He tried to read the expressions on his friends' faces but all he could get was that they felt offended by his comments. Grian just really didn't understand it. He's just a writer.
"I can't believe you," Impulse said, shaking his head as he crossed his arms. Was Grian seriously being scolded right now for not liking a writer?
"Why is he such a big thing? I just- I really don't understand it."
"Well to start off, because he's a wondrous writer and actor. And he's one of the first hybrids to get the spotlight for once. I thought you should have understood that by now." Grian scoffed. Fools. Just because he's a hybrid, doesn't mean that that makes him automatically deserving of fame. And that also didn't mean that Grian was going to love him.
"Yet he's still another one of those guys who talks about death and love. Literally, just thinking about it makes me feel gloomy."
"And that's the beauty-"
"No! No! It's terrible! It's absolutely terrible! If you seriously want to listen to a man talk about his dead lover until sundown? I can name ten things that are I would rather be doing with my time than listen to a terrible Shakespeare imitation that makes me want to hang myself on the gallows." Zedaph and Tango chuckled and Impulse rolled his eyes.
"Sorry G, didn't know you'd get this worked up over it," Zedaph said, but Grian knew that none of it was meant. Grian let a sigh escape from his lips. If only they could all just drop this conversation, it would be a lot easier.
“Yeah, seems like you're pretty passionate about him."
"That's because the idea that this Shakespeare-double gains this much popularity by his horrendous writing boggles me. It feels like I am the fool, or everyone else has become a dimwit." Zedaph chuckled.
"I think it's the first one." Grian glared at the ram hybrid who looked rather pleased with himself. Grian wanted to make another comment so desperately, but he opted to press his lips into a thin line and keep his mouth shut for once.
As Grian was walking back home, he could see from the corner of his eye smoke coming from the wooden podium that Scar had performed on that afternoon. There had put up a campsite with tents and a campfire. Scar wasn’t travelling alone.
There were a group of people sitting there, some of them hybrids, some of them weren’t. Grian just quickly walked past it. His gaze was fixated on his own feet. He could hear the group laughing. Wasn’t it time for them to go to sleep or something, Grian wondered? He was planning on heading to bed as soon as he had the opportunity to. He didn’t want to stay awake any longer. He was still exhausted from having to sit through an awful play and then having to discuss that play with almost everyone he knew. It still boggled his mind that people could enjoy this.
“You just don’t understand it.” The words that Impulse had spoken to him still echoed in his mind. Repeating until Grian actually felt like he was going crazy because of it.
He entered his small home and walked up the stairs to his bedroom. He opened one of his windows so the room could cool down during the night and he laid down on his bed. Even though his body was physically exhausted, he still wasn’t able to sleep. He didn’t understand why he was this passionate about it and why it was such a big deal in not only his mind, but everyone else’s too.
That was probably the reason why Grian was so restless. Even though it wasn’t that big of a deal in his own mind, it was in the minds of his friends. They all cared if Grian liked it or not. They all wanted him to like it as if liking a dumb play was the most important thing in the world. As if his opinion had any effect on their personal lives. As if he had offended them all because he didn’t like a guy’s play. This was ludicrous, Grian found himself thinking. Why would anyone care what he thought?
Frustration was a nasty feeling, it got in your bones, your muscles, your whole body. Grian knew that. So he took a couple of deep breaths and let it all roll off him. Tomorrow was going to be a new day and he hoped that this Scar would quickly stop being the talk of the town.