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Through the soft-spoken leaves and tasseled jungle grass, you’d find 3 small starter bases sitting on the edge of a large pond. The light reflecting onto the water made everything look serene, calm, like everything wasn’t all mixed up in their heads.
A new season, they had called it. A new place, a new world to adventure. Right when they had all gotten everything, they then had nothing, abandoning it all in the world before. All the hermits had now was the knowledge they carried from all of that past, all of those memories, now all just small grains of salt to add flavor to their food.
Grian laid on the ground of his base, overwhelmingly bored. The bird had finished building his little place to stay (He liked to call it his ‘hobbit hole’, for it had been built in the side of a hill), so he was left with nothing but silence. If he hadn’t annoyed all his friends, or flew around aimlessly for hours, or already started preparing for his bigger base, he would’ve been doing that. But he had worn out all options, and so he was left with his mind and the cold hard floor.
Only a few more seconds had passed, and once more, an overwhelming wash of boredom went right over him. He had nothing to do, yet he yearned for something to do. As if on cue, he heard leaves shuffle and a knock at his door.
Grian pushed himself off the ground, stretching his back and letting out a yawn. He walked over to his door, opening it, and seeing a sweet-looking Scar holding two cups of something yellow.
“Hey Scar,” Grian greeted the man, smiling as if a god had come to save him (In which to him one had, for Scar had come to save him from his existential boredom). “What are you here for?”
“I was out chopping trees, and accidently cut down a lemon tree,” Scar explained. “So, I decided to make lemonade! When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, right? Anyways, I thought you’d like some?”
Grian hummed, rolling Scar inside. “I’ve never had lemonade. Last time I had a lemon, though…” Grian stopped pushing Scar’s wheelchair as his wings flattened, as if he was experiencing some awful, horrifying flashback. “…I wasn’t a fan.” Grian stood still for a few seconds, and Scar was confused as to if he should be worried or laugh.
Scar raised an eyebrow at him, and Grian went back to rolling Scar towards his kitchen table (Which was poorly made, Grian was never a furniture guy). Grian stopped when they had made it, got a chair for himself, and he sat next to Scar.
Scar handed him the lemonade wordlessly, waiting for Grian to take a sip. “Tell me what you think.”
Grian took a drink and…
Oh, oh no.
It was awful.
Horrid!
It was like he was drinking garbage disposal water! Or worse, drowning in a pile of acid mixed with car oil and someone's dry skin!
The disgusting sour yet sugar-coated residue refused to be swallowed down, and he felt a green byproduct rising in his throat. Regardless, he persisted, not swallowing the drink and not spitting it out.
His face was a mixture of disgust, disapproval, and dread. It was enough for Scar to tell he didn’t appreciate his drink.
“So… you don’t like lemona-“ Grian cut him off by running towards his trash can, spitting the drink out and puking out anything associated with the liquid. How could a liquid be so awful? Why did this even exist!?
Scar rolled over, patting the poor man’s back until he felt good enough to lift his head and speak.
“Yeah, I… I don’t think I like lemonade, Scar.”
TL;DR, don’t give a bird lemonade.