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Mumbo needed to do a better job of taking care of his paths. They couldn't put lights on the path, after all. Other people would have been able to find it. Still though, he could think of a few things he could do to keep mobs from sneaking up on them both. He stared down at the zombie in disgust and holstered his pistol, looking up to check that Scar was okay.
The Elven man picked some grime from his hair – leaves and sticks. The zombie surprised them both and Scar tumbled onto the road while Mumbo dealt with it. His face held a grimace as he discarded a stick and he looked back at Mumbo. “You know,” he said, “I’m pretty sure it would be easier to just let me dig a few tunnels one of these days.”
“And hide them where, exactly? I think people would start to notice if Hermit Town’s sewer system started to get more complicated,” Mumbo pointed out as the two of them got back on the path.
“You could build a door,” Scar helpfully supplied. “Or something coming away from the manor. It’s on the outskirts of town anyway.”
Mumbo glanced to him and rolled his eyes. “It’s not like we need to come out here very often. What, are you afraid to fight a little spider,” he teased, glancing around in the dark. Just to be sure.
Scar shoved him away and huffed. They came to the end of their path, even if it looked like the path went out further. Mumbo walked to an unassuming section of the dirt and a key ring jostled in his hand. He fished it out and pushed a button. A section of the glass rose upwards, revealing a staircase, and both he and Scar descended. The stairs led down into a half-finished and musty room, filled to the brim with boxes and filing cabinets. Scar, who was a little ahead of him on the stairs, halted before the bottom step and threw his arm out. Mumbo stopped, looking to his friend with confusion before looking out to the dark room. Oh.
There was a figure laying in the middle of the floor. It wasn’t like the room was particularly large, there was nowhere else for them to lay, but. There was a figure, of a person, laying in the middle of the room. They had two large wings splayed out underneath them. Now that Mumbo was paying attention, he could smell blood. After the second it took him to register everything, he yanked Scar back with as much force as he could muster.
Scar stumbled back and fell, and Mumbo cursed under his breath, having forgotten that Scar’s balance wasn't good. Still, with most of his weight held by Mumbo, the fall didn’t seem to harm him. “Stay here,” Mumbo hissed, moving the few steps down to be on the floor with the figure. The darkness enveloped him down here, out of view of what little moonlight was lighting up the stairs. He was lucky he could see in the dark after his eyes adjusted to it.
The figure laying on the floor of their storage room was bleeding from every orifice on his face. Eyes, nose, mouth – it wasn't particularly heavy and in fact even looked old, but Mumbo couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t good regardless. He frowned, his eyes scanning lower. The avian was laying on his wings, which couldn’t be comfortable. The clothes on his body were half burnt off, only the remains of a robe draped over a plain tank top and pants. The stranger’s arms were surprisingly muscular.
Mumbo shifted to kneel by the man’s head and pressed two fingers into his neck, checking for a pulse. It was there, he was alive, though Mumbo couldn’t imagine anything good was going on inside his body. And that brought up the next problem-
“How did he get in here?” Scar asked, and Mumbo noticed that Scar did not in fact stay where Mumbo said. There was a flash of disappointment across Mumbo’s features, but he didn’t put words behind it. Scar was his friend and his boss. If he wanted to disobey Mumbo that was his prerogative.
“A great question. We can ask him when he wakes up,” Mumbo replied. He stepped around the figure and went to a filing cabinet. Their riches and weapons, those they kept close to their chests. They could explain, or bribe, those out of existence. Any evidence of a paper trail, however, made its way out to this particular storage room, and Mumbo had the entire thing rigged with fire charges. He needed to know he could send to straight to ash if he needed to. He cracked open one of the cabinets and pulled out a file. It was thick, a transactional document. Keeping track of anything that went into the vault.
Mumbo set it on top of the cabinet and fished out another document from his bag, sliding it into the file before putting it away. When he glanced over to Scar, he saw that the other was watching the avian closely. Bent almost in half, bracing himself with hands on his knees, a curious squint to his face. Scar was never one to back down from a mystery.
The metallic twang of the file cabinet shutting seemed to jumpstart the elven man, who’s attention came back to Mumbo. “So…” he started, his voice low, “what’s the plan for getting him out of here? Kind of hard to sneak someone into the manor with two giant wings, which may I point out would be made infinitely easier if we had some sort of underground tunnel-“
“I’ll carry him, and we’ll figure it out from there.” Mumbo bent down and scooped the Avian into his arms. He was light. It was like lifting nothing. Avians, he knew, had hollow bones like birds, and their bodies didn’t carry weight in the same way, so they could fly. Mumbo never lifted one into the air before, so it was still a shock that spread across his features. Scar let out a little laugh and clasped his hands together.
Grian woke with a start, gasping for air as if he was suffocating. His wings flared out to either side of him and, as soon as he noticed he was in unfamiliar territory, they wrapped around him like a cocoon. He couldn’t see anything. His fingers found his feathers and they held on, thumb rubbing over some of the longer ones. The texture was comforting and familiar.
The question about where he was remained. The bedroom’s scent was unfamiliar. Wooden, warm. What he always pictured when he saw the word ‘home’. It certainly wasn’t a damp cave. Slowly and carefully, he lifted one of the wings, just slightly, to get a look at where he was. It was a bedroom, nicer than any Grian had seen before. Four poster bed, an unlit fireplace in the corner, black out curtains hanging on a huge window. There was the smallest visible sliver that hinted it was no longer nighttime coming through a crack in the curtain. Grian noticed he was alone and, with a deep breath, unfolded his other wing. The pair went behind him and tucked in as close to his back as they could.
The bed he occupied was large enough for two people, with him propped up in the middle. As he sat up, cautious and slow, he noticed two things. First, he still had on the pants and undershirt, but his robe was missing. Second, there were clothes sitting on the edge of the bed. Grian ran a hand down the front of his shirt to smooth the fabric and frowned as he felt where part of it had burned away. Ah. That’s why there were clothes.
Grian stood and looked at the offered garments. It was hard to make out what they were in the darkness of the room, some sort of tunic and pants but no other distinguishing features. Grian squinted, trying to see if there was something for light in the room. There was a switch by the door. The light hurt his eyes when it flicked on and he winced, face scrunched up. He struggled to look around for a minute and took a very deep breath, having to make a visor with his hands. His eyes adjusted, and he still didn’t want to have them open, but it was better. The tunic in his hands was green, and soft. The liner was wool, though a thin layer. Not meant for the depths of winter but enough to fend off the chill that was in the air.
He paused as he went to get dressed, remembering he needed holes for his wings and then noticing they’d been roughly cut into place. The jagged cuts frayed a bit at the edges, likely made whenever they left him clothes. Whoever they were. Still, it was better than nothing, and he sat his singed clothes in an armchair by the bed.
The shirt and pants only fit him loosely. The legs of the black slacks were too long, and the shirt was too big overall, but it was manageable. He cuffed the pants so he wasn’t walking on them. He noticed whoever gave him clothes did not give him shoes. There was the possibility they didn’t wear shoes in the house, which Grian did admit to himself was likely. However, there was also the possibility it was to keep him from running.
A shudder went through his body.
The floor was hardwood, though a plush looking carpet ran the length of the hallway, and the floor creaked below him. His eyes narrowed and his wings fluttered . The ceiling had enough room to justify flying, but he didn’t know his way around at all, let alone enough to not get hurt. With a frustrated huff, his wings folded back up and he made his way down the hall. Towards the window seemed like a good direction to move, and he tugged back the dusty black out curtains. He winced again as sunlight streamed in. It wasn’t entirely blinding like when he turned on the light to the bedroom, but it still wasn’t pleasant and took some time to adjust. Grian looked out at a green expanse and took a deep breath. The window could open, and he slid his fingers along looking for a latch. He found it and held on, planning to tug it open.
“Leaving so soon?” came a voice. It caused Grian to jump. When he turned there was a man standing behind him with long brown hair and some sort of elaborate robe.
“Who are you?” Grian asked, his hand still gripping the latch. Grey wings stretched out to partially shield him from view, the shadow it created stretching even further.
“Scar! One half of the duo that found you. Previous owner of the shirt you’re wearing,” he said, answering Grian’s silent question.
Scar made no attempt to move closer to him, but Grian still didn’t trust it. The man’s presence felt off. The smile he wore felt like a lie. Grian rolled his shoulders and half turned, one wing folding up as it brushed against the curtain. The other acted as a distance marker between him and Scar; it didn’t quite reach the man, but it was close enough. Grian was ready.
“Skittish bird, huh?” Scar said. His hands moved and a staff Grian didn’t notice him holding before moved with them. Scar leaned his weight on it. “Well, you know, if you don’t flee out of Mumbo’s hallway window, I could get you something to eat.”
“Who’s Mumbo? The other half of the duo?” Grian couldn’t help but to ask. Scar nodded, and then glanced around behind him, looking. He clearly wasn't worried about Grian attacking him if he was willing to take his eyes off him.
“I’m sort of surprised he’s not here with me. Though, you did just throw open those curtains, and he is a tiny bit allergic to the sun,” Scar said, staring at the window, sort of up and past Grian. Taking in the blue sky, it seemed.
“Allergic to the sun?” Grian asked. He’d never heard of something like that before. Allergies to nuts or bread, sure, but sunlight?
“Oh yeah, he burns ridiculously fast. Has to lather up in sunscreen, stay in the shade. It’s a bit of a pain. We make do.”
Grian frowned. This conversation felt like a distraction to him. “…what do you want?” he asked.
“Skittish and suspicious. You certainly are an interesting bird. We saved your life, I’m pretty sure. I mean, I can’t imagine someone bleeding from their eyes was doing particularly good before we got there.”
Grian’s other wing drew back to his body and Scar took a step forward. Grian took a sharp breath in and jumped up onto the windowsill, wing extended out again, ready to take flight.
“Whoa- whoa. Birdie, sorry. Just rocking on my feet,” Scar said, holding up his free hand. Grian’s eyes narrowed still but his wing drooped a bit.
“…What are you talking about? Bleeding from the eyes?” Grian asked then, fingers tightening on the latch. Why there was a stronger part of his brain that decided to stay in place over flee out the window, he had no idea.
“Oh, dude, your face was all kinds of messed up when we found you.” Scar shook his head then. “Eyes, nose, mouth? All bleeding. We had to give you a healing potion while you were unconscious and like, wipe all the blood off. Real nasty work. I was real worried you were going to choke on the potion, frankly.”
Grian frowned further but did not move to get closer to Scar. “Where…did you find me?”
“Oh? In one of our….rooms,” Scar explained. He waved his free hand around as he talked, Grian noticed. “Actually, we have no idea how on earth you even got in there. It’s a completely sealed room, and only Mumbo and I have a key to get it to open. Which…would be another reason I’d like you to stick around. Hate to have to go find you again, you know.” And ah, there it was. The threat Grian was waiting for. Though – find him? Again? It wasn’t exactly the threat he was expecting; a promise they could drag him back. Scar’s face remained kind as he spoke too, and Grian couldn’t help how his tail feathers ruffled in mild alarm.
His stomach rumbled and brought him back to Scar’s offer of food. Scar seemed to hear it too, and his grin only got wider. Without a word, the man whipped around and began walking down the hall. Grian remained in his spot for a minute before deciding to follow him, taking a few seconds to close the curtains behind him. His steps were light behind the sound of Scar’s staff tapping the ground, though the darkness re-enveloping the hallway was a pretty good indication he was coming along.
The place seemed expansive as Scar led the way to what Grian felt he could assume was a kitchen. Grian took in as much of it as he could, but so much of the house hid from his view. So many closed doors. No sound behind any of them and no indication there were even other people in the place. Grian couldn’t help but feel that there had to be, otherwise why have a home that big?
The kitchen Scar led him to was cozy despite the scope of the building he’d seen. It was fit to make food for dozens if not a hundred people or more, even, but it had its charm and warmth to it still. The light flicked on, and it was a brighter and cooler light than the one from the bedroom Grian woke up in. Scar made some noise as he started cooking, and Grian took a seat at a barstool on the other side of the kitchen island. He wanted to keep something between himself and Scar.
“I hope you’re planning on making me something to eat if you’re going to use my kitchen, mate,” came a new voice that frightened Grian so much his wings puffed all the way out, knocking over the barstool beside him. He heard the new voice say a quiet ‘whoa’ before somebody came into view.
The pale skin indicated alone that this was Mumbo, the man allergic to sunlight. Grian swallowed, his wings slowly folding back close. He muttered an apology under his breath but did not get up to right the barstool. Mumbo didn’t move towards him to fix it either, instead going the long way around to be on the same side as Scar. He’d come from a door behind them. Grian tried not to stare at him too much, not wanting to attract his attention.
Mumbo, Grian noticed, watched Grian in the same way. He stood close to Scar as if planning to interfere with something. As if Grian planned on attacking Scar. “Have you actually asked him anything or did you just start making breakfast as if this is a normal guest,” Mumbo said, his voice low.
“A guest can also be someone you found in your secret, impenetrable storage room half dead,” Scar supplied. Grian latched onto those words, a taloned hand almost literally latching onto the air.
“I’m sorry – you found me where?” Grian asked. His voice was softer than he intended, but the surprise got to him.
Mumbo’s eyes narrowed but Scar spoke before he noticed. “We’ve got a storage room uh. Out there. In the wilds. And you were laying in the middle of the floor, and isn’t that weird, since there’s no door,” Scar said then. He turned to look at Grian and Grian got the idea that Scar was now interrogating him. He felt goosebumps on the back of his neck.
Grian managed to make a noise before he actually spoke, and Mumbo took it upon himself to take over. “We’re very interested, you see, in figuring out how you got in. You certainly should not have been able to,” Mumbo says, leaning on both his hands to lean on the counter across from Grian.
He’d never been in an open space before feeling so trapped. He held eye contact with Mumbo and took a deep breath.
“Have you heard of chorus fruit?” Grian said, his voice careful. His talon dragged the surface of the kitchen island. “I ate one of those. To get away.”
“From what?”
“I…don’t remember. Clearly it worked. But uh. Guess it messed me up a bit,” he said.
The look on Mumbo’s face told him that was not enough information, but it was all Grian had to offer. He remembered the Rift, the feeling of it pulling him out like a rubber band, of snapping back but going too far until it squished him. Not being able to control or even understand what direction his body was moving in, all while purple light encompassed his body inside and out. He didn’t remember where it spit him out, just that he was in a hurry to get away. A desperate attempt to flee. Flee from what, Grian didn’t remember. He didn’t even remember where he found the Rift. Why he found the Rift. He just remembered the feeling of it, and that he ate a chorus fruit.
Mumbo opened his mouth to say something and Grian saw two fangs where canines should be, barely visible behind his lips. They were definitely fangs, too large and sharp to be regular teeth. He didn’t actually hear what Mumbo said and based on the look on his face that was to Mumbo’s immense frustration.
“Why were you using a piece of chorus fruit anywhere near where our storage room is?!” Mumbo asked, his voice turning into a bit of a growl. “Did Ren set you up to this?”
Grian’s face scrunched, confused, and he sat up a little straighter. His wings lowered. “Who is Ren?” he asked, though that only made Mumbo narrow his eyes more. Mumbo glanced to where Scar cooked scrambled eggs, not paying attention to their conversation. He huffed, as though Scar had said something, and slid the plate across to Grian. It stopped on its own before reaching the edge, a practiced maneuver.
“’Who is Ren’ this is unbelievable. Scar might be willing to put up with these shenanigans, but I am not. And you are in my house. So. Did Ren set you up to this?” Mumbo asked again. There was a hint of danger in his voice and Grian sat up a little straighter.
“Well, given that I don’t know who Ren even is, I think you’re fine,” Grian said.
“I told you,” Scar said, a playful smack to Mumbo’s arm. Mumbo did not seem to appreciate it or agree. “I think we can give Ren a little credit where it’s due – I doubt one of his plans would backfire so spectacularly somebody would die trying to get inside a hill.”
Grian didn’t want to mention that he didn’t even recognize where they were. His entire life was within blue caves that dripped water on your head and echoed down to the void. He didn’t think they would like that answer at the moment, and it risked even more questions he didn’t have the answer to.
“Right. So. Some random bird we’ve never seen before in our lives chorus fruit’s his way into our storage room which, Scar, I don’t think I need to remind you what is inside there, and you’re just. Hunky dory with this. Making him breakfast – in my kitchen, mind you – and moving right along as if we’ve known him for years,” Mumbo said, turning his back to Grian as he crossed his arms and immediately had to uncross them to take a plate of scrambled eggs.
“I don’t see why we can’t trust him. Well – trust, maybe, that’s a strong word, I must admit. But. Keep him around. Either he’s really just some random man who accidentally teleported into the room and injured himself quite heavily in the process, or he’s actually a spy for Ren and we can take care of him later,” Scar said simply, taking his own plate and turning around to set it on the island. “We’ve got bigger fish to fry at the moment.”
Scar hopped up to sit on the counter and Mumbo made a displeased noise while Grian watched the two of them. Whatever fish they had to fry didn’t come up in the conversation, though Mumbo set his plate down besides Scar and pinned Grian again with a look.
The kitchen was silent, and the only person who didn’t seem to get the tension was Scar. Grian rubbed taloned hand against taloned hand, holding Mumbo’s eye contact. It was as though the black-haired man didn’t know what to say to keep him in place, so he opted for looking at him. Grian took a deep breath and then broke the eye contact to eat, feeling his stomach gurgle again.
He jumped, wings flaring out again but not with as much emphasis when Scar clapped and twisted his upper body to look at Grian. “So! Here’s what we’re going to do, Birdie. You’re going to stay here – well. Here is relative, I suppose – And we’re going to figure out exactly what your gameplan is, hm? And I know you’re thinking to yourself, ‘well why can’t I just leave? What’s stopping me from flying out the window like I was going to do earlier?’ An excellent question!” With that, Scar set his plate aside and hopped down. Now he moved on Grian and even leaning his weight on a staff, Scar was fast. Grian jumped up, tripping and falling over the barstool from before. His wings unfurled around him, and he winced as he hit the tiled floor of the kitchen. Scar wasn’t on top of him, but he was close. Within arm’s reach. Grian took a deep breath and went to scramble back, but Mumbo was behind him, and he ran into Mumbo’s legs.
Grian’s face set in tension as he watched Scar with wide and angry eyes. The man’s long braid fell over his shoulder when he bent down to be closer to eye level. “We are….incredible capable of finding people. Even if we don’t have your name which, I’m sure you’ll notice, we don’t yet. But we can and will find you. And wrangle you back,” Scar said. His voice was sharper than before. Dangerous. “It’s easier to just stay here for the time being, don’t you think?”
Grian swallowed, talons scrapping against the tile. Who were these men? He’d never met anyone like either of them. He let out a shaky breath and nodded his head. He’d brought no weapons with him, or they were otherwise lost between the Rift and where he was now. Something told him they would be able to find him wherever he went. Something else told him that leaving and getting away from the Rift was his worst option.
He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut only to crack them back open and see Scar’s smile back on his face. It was warm, it felt genuine. Mumbo moved out from behind him, and he didn’t see the man in the kitchen anymore. Scar reached out a hand that Grian flinched away from.
“It’s only fair I help you up,” he said, gesturing for Grian to take it. With some hesitance, Grian did, and Scar pulled him up with ease. In fact, it seemed like he overestimated how much strength he needed to get Grian upright and the momentum continued, causing Grian to stumble right into him.
Scar gave him a sheepish smile as Grian righted himself, his wings folding back. “Finish your breakfast. Then we’ll all sit down and have a proper chat, hm?” he said. Grian glanced at the plate of scrambled eggs he hadn’t even started to pick at and then back to Scar, to find the other man had also vanished from the kitchen. With a blink and an uncomfortable breath, he took his seat back on the barstool and picked at the plate in front of him.
This, he was pretty sure, had not been a factor in his original plan.