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Grian was not a desert bird. He was a parrot, built for the humidity of the jungle. Sure, the desert is a hot place, but it’s dry air. And on top of that, it’s covered in sand. Sand that gets everywhere. In his hair, in his clothes, in his house, in his wings.
Scar, despite being the biggest Star Wars fan you’ll find on the server, didn’t seem to mind it much. He embraced the desert life. Almost too much so. When he turned his head too fast, you could see some sand fall out of it. It’s amusing to see the look on the other members' faces when they notice, especially Jimmy. It was so funny to see his little confused/baffled look.
However, Grian did not particularly care for the sand stuck in his wings. It got caught in between all his feathers and felt uncomfortable. It even stopped him from being able to fly, not that he was allowed during this experiment, no end means no elytra which means the others can’t fly which means he shouldn’t fly. But still, he needed the sand out of his wings as soon as possible.
But, he couldn’t even reach where most of it was stuck. And shaking his wings out only dislodged so much. And there was still quite a lot stuck in his plumage. He was miserable.
……
Grian woke up with the sun most days. Today, however, was different. He had spent most the night tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. An impossible task when he could feel every little grain of sand stuck in unreachable places. He was already exhausted when he came down the stairs to meet Scar in the sort of kitchen area they had made.
“Hrrrhnnn,” Grian leaned onto the upside down stair blocks that formed the table.
“Good morning to you too, G,” Scar said in his usual enthusiastic manner. Grian maneuvered his head to glare up at Scar, “Sleep well?”
“Nope,” Grian mumbled.
“Stupid desert, stupid sand,” he said, “We shoulda lived in my hobbit hole, much nicer over there. Flowers n stuff. No stupid sand.”
Scar walked over to where Grian was leaning dramatically, and pet his head to console him, “Poor Grian, don’t like sand I hear?”
“Hrnn,” he mumbled angrily.
“Is the sand bothering you too much? We could move if you want, the monopoly wasn’t our best idea If I’m being honest,” Scar looked a bit worried, the concern visible in his features.
“Nah it’s fine. I like the house too much, ‘nd we can't leave Pizza’s grave. I can just feel it, everywhere, the sand. I can even feel it in between my feathers. Not fun.”
“Oh. Is it uncomfortable?” Scar asked with that curious tone of his, probably drafting another half-baked idea, much like the monopoly was.
“Yeah. It’s kind of itchy? I can’t get it out. I’ve tried almost everything. Can’t reach, y’know?” Grian’s head fell back down onto the table with a small thud, he was exhausted .
“Oh! I could help with that!”
His head whipped up at the suggestion, “What?”
“I mean that I can reach, obviously. And you can’t get the sand out by yourself. We could make a day out of it, just sitting in a room and cleaning out your wings,” he smiled. Scar didn’t even know what he was getting into and he was smiling .
Grian’s face turned an odd shade of red at the idea. A whole day, dedicated to pampering him. He would be lying if he didn’t adore the idea. All of Scar’s attention on him, for who knows how long. It could take hours if Scar was meticulous enough. Glorious hours of quality time spent chatting and doing who knows what else.
Then it hit him.
Scar didn’t know much about what this meant to him. Preening another’s wings is a huge act of trust and caring between avians. It is a commitment to always be there, like a relationship almost.
Offering to preen an avian’s wings was equal to a declaration of love, or at least a very strong ‘I trust you, do you trust me?’ kind of thing. Mothers preened their young until they were of age to find a partner.
A mate.
Scar didn’t know what he was offering. He didn’t know that he was offering everything Grian could ever want, right there, on a silver platter. He didn’t understand avian traditions at all. This wasn’t a real declaration. This was one of convenience, care.
Scar just wanted to help.
He didn’t know.
So Grian had to refuse. He couldn’t do that to Scar.
“That’s a good idea, but…” he trailed off, standing up and avoiding eye contact.
“But? Are you afraid I’d hurt you? ‘Cause I swear I’d never on purpose. Besides, you’re the scary one, mister TNT triple kill,” he grinned again. Stupid Scar and his stupid grin.
“Ah no- it’s not that. It’s just that, I- It’s hard to explain,” Grian stammered. How was he going to explain this! There’s so much history, tradition.
How could he sum that all up without Scar zoning out!
“Do- do you not trust me?” Scar asked in a small voice, visibly hurt. He was jumping to conclusions already. This wasn’t good.
“No! Of course I trust you Scar, It-”
“Then let me do this for you!” Scar interrupted, a feeble expression displayed across his face.
“It’s a declaration of love ! It's a declaration of commitment, of extreme levels of trust, at least in avian culture. A sort of ‘I’d die for you,’ kind of thing.”
Scar looked a bit shocked, “Oh.”
“I don’t think you want that, not with me.”
“ Oh ,” Scar said again, his expression shifting from shock to care once more.
“It’s this weird tradition, like a marriage proposal almost, at least to put it into human terms. I’d either have to find and beg my mother or do it myself. Usually I have Mumbo do it, because he’s the closest friend I’ve ever had and it doesn't have to be romantic but with you– I feel like it has to be romantic and I’m really sorry,” Grian rambled, “I shouldn’t think about you like that. Not here, not now. We’re in a death game for the watchers sake!”
“Grian,” Scar says, “Slow down, you’re rambling again. Besides, I’d like that. Really like that.”
“You don't mean that, Scar, you’re not listening. It’s such an–”
“But I do mean it,” Scar cut him off again, “I understand. I’m not just some kid you picked up off the side of the road!”
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” Grian’s wings moved to cover his front, enveloping him like a blanket of hundreds of feathers. A comfort response.
“I do. I want this, Grian. If you want me,” Scar said with the most sincerity that Grian had ever heard from the man.
“I do want you,” his wings flittered happily, a few stray grains of sand falling out of his feathers. His face was a beautiful shade of red that almost matched Scar’s red eyes, a result of the game. He looked the happiest he’s looked since the first session of third life.
“Good, I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Scar grinned again, “Now, you want those wings sand free or what?”
“Yeah fine, c’mere,” Grian said far too happily, a cheeky grin spread across his face.
“Also I’d like to point out that I have actually died for you,” Scar said, “Or rather from you.”
“I– yeah you have,” he admitted.
“The creeper,” Scar poked at the side of Grian’s jumper.
“Okay, shush or I’m retracting my offer,” the avian squawked, both from the topic and from being poked.
“Shutting up!” Scar grinned as Grian led him towards one of the many rooms in their tower home. He sat down on the floor, stretching his wings behind him. The bones cricked as they stretched out to their full span for the first time in a few days.
“Tell me if I’m doing something wrong, ‘kay G?”
“Yeah, I will,” Grian mumbled.
Scar’s gentle hands were like magic, his fingers roaming through Grian’s feathers. Dislodging any grains of sand along their way. His hands made their way through the smallish feathers, then the medium ones, and then finally through Grian’s longest feathers.
He’d forgotten the particular names years ago.
This is the nicest he’s felt since before Third Life started, probably since he was last in Hermitcraft.
“There!” Scar exclaimed, “That should be all. Let me know if you need any more help with those sandy problems of yours, G.”
“Thank you, Scar. Really.”
“And about the whole ‘act of love and devotion thing’,” Grian’s mood dropped, this can’t be good. Did Scar want out? Was Grian reading too much into what he’d said earlier? Had Scar decided that Grian wasn’t worth it? “Can, d’ya think, this can transfer back to Hermitcraft too? Not just a ‘Death Games’ thing?”
“Yes, of course, Scar,” Grian sighed in relief, “Always.”
“And uh, one more thing,” Scar said sheepishly.
“Hm?”
“Can I, uh, have a kiss?”
“Yes… put your clothes back on!”
“Sorry, sorry,” Scar dramatically sighed, slipping his shirt and armor back on, “Better?”
“Safer,” Grian said, taking a few steps closer to cup Scar’s cheeks in his hands, “Less chance of spontaneous death.”
“Yes, yes, I see your point, G,” Scar sighed, leaning into the soft touch of Grian’s hands.
The two kissed for what felt like an eternity, Grian’s lips were uncharacteristically rough against Scar’s oddly soft ones.
Maybe they would make this work. Maybe two could win the game.
Maybe this wouldn’t end poorly.
Maybe…