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Rain poured down on the city harshly, wind sweeping the low and high grounds. The streets were void of crowds or people, save for one.
Calamus put an untucked wing over his head as he pelted down the sidewalk. His other hand carried a bag of groceries that he held close to his chest.
He'd rarely ever go shopping out of the glen; so of course the one time he does it starts raining like hell.
His eyes darted around for any space to duck into, but not even the alleyways were a proper safe place.
Though his frantic running doesn't last for long, as a woman with a jar for a head steps outside one of the building's doors. She wore a white apron and a name tag on her chest, hands frantically keeping the swinging door open
“Come in, quickly!” She yelled at the red bird.
Calamus takes in a quick gasp of air as he turns tail and ducks into the open entrance. The woman quickly rushes in after and closes the swinging door firmly.
The two sigh in unison, with Calamus slowly picking himself up. “Ya okay there, sonny?” She murmured.
“I'm okay, thank you ma'am,” Calamus said as he shook his head clean. He takes in his surroundings, and soon he realizes that he had stumbled into a diner. The kitchen sounded busy, but there were only 2 other citizens inside.
The woman ruffles Calamus’ already messy hair, causing him to murr uncomfortably. “Stay ‘ere until the storm clears out, m'kay?”
He muttered out an “okay” before heading over to the washroom. He places the bag of groceries outside, and proceeds to walk into the room in a partially soaked state.
He was no stranger to being soaked from the rain, of course. But it was still rather annoying trying to shake the water out of his feathers.
After a short bit of drying, he steps up to one of the many mirrors that stood tall amongst the row of sinks. He leans in close, and inspects his whole body, his ever present eye bags, the small unnoticeable scratches on his face, and the small burnt marks that remained on his main hand.
The only anomaly he could find was a stray white hair that hung down in the middle of his face. There was no need for anybody to look at that. He plucks the strand off, wincing slightly.
He looks again and he lets out a satisfied huff. Nobody needs to see him look worse than before!
He sighs.
No, he promised he'd get better for her. He should sleep more often… maybe the diner will let him take a nap here ‘till the rain dies down.
He leaves the washroom, the feathers on his shoulders raised high at the loud squeak of the door.
Taking no time, he grabs the bag of items and shuffles to one of the tables in a further away corner right next to the window. Upon taking the more comfy looking seat, he leans his face up against the barely reflective glass, feeling a cold chill run through him.
He makes a sort of half-hearted attempt to sleep peacefully, curling his tail around his body to add some kind of comfort.
His eyes begin to flutter, and he almost dozes off, until—
Ring! The diner door's bell chimed, and another object head person rushed in with a long coat and partially broken umbrella. Calamus leans over to look at the diner's new occupant, and it was a woman with a dice for a head, donning a long raincoat jacket.
“Phew!” She sighed out. “So sorry for barging in, really.”
A fellow Glenfolk waiter rushes in with a towel, and haphazardly hands it to the dice woman. “It's okay Ms. George, just stay here for now!”
She wipes her face clean, thanks the waiter with a soft voice, and then makes her way to the back of the diner. Calamus felt a weird pit in his stomach form, as this weirdly graceful woman was about to pass by him.
The woman, George, was about to walk by the sad looking table, paying no mind at first. Though she stops, her head craning to glance at the scrawny bird. Her five pips like eyes boring through Calamus’ heart.
“Oh, hello dear!” she says with a worryingly soft voice. “I haven't seen someone like you around the city.”
The red bird chuffs. “Yeah, I usually don't go to the city when I buy something,” he lets out a short and forceful chuckle.
George looks at the rain stained windows and sighs. “You waiting for the storm to pass too, aren't you?”
Calamus warbles. “Yeah, I am,” he says with little energy this time. He turns his gaze to the dice headed woman. “Do you happen to know when it's going to stop?”
George lowers her head, shaking it slowly with a disappointed look to her face. “No, unfortunately not. Looks like the storm's gonna last for a while.”
The red bird's feathers drooped, now making no attempt to hide his solemn looking face. He rests his head on the table, knowing he'll be there for a while.
George shuffled in place uneasily, occasionally looking away. She clears her throat and says, “Is it okay if I sit here?”
Calamus’ eyes widened as he stood right up, feeling embarrassment wash over him immediately. “Oh— sorry, sorry! Here I'll just get up from here and-”
“Nonono, sweetie it's okay,” George hurriedly kept the bird on his seat, one hand assuredly on his shoulder. “You can stay here if you want, it's okay.”
The scarlet Glenfolk almost shrunk, feeling like he's done something absolutely wrong, and that he'll soon be hit with a rock for it.
… or something like that.
He watches as George takes the seat on the other side of the table, making the two face each other under the diner's rather lackluster lighting. It almost made Calamus shiver.
She glanced at the paper bag that sat next to the young Glenfolk, humming. “Did you really come all the way to the refuge for that?”
“Uhm, yeah,” Calamus sheepishly answered. “It's for something special.”
“Really?” That piqued George's interest.
“Yeah, it's for my sister's birthday, she's about to turn seven soon!” He says with a sudden flare of excitement. Though he immediately hides it with a short cough.
“Really now?” George's voice trailed on curiosity and worry. “Well shouldn't your parents be the one preparing all of this for her birthday?”
Calamus freezes up, his fingers splayed on the table as he looks down nervously. He curls his tail around his leg as he lets out a small whimper.
George's eyes fixate on the nervous boy, a sudden wave of anxiety hitting the both of them. “Are your parents okay? Sweetheart, Where are they?”
He refuses to look at her, trying his best to keep it all down. George couldn't read his expression, and her heart sank a little. She put a hand to the table, wanting to reach over and hold the boy's in a sort of comfort.
She sighs, and she looks down at the ever present menu that was placed on the table. “You want me to buy you something to eat from here?”
Calamus snaps out of whatever trance he was in. Immediately he looks at the woman that sat in front of him. “No it's okay,” he calmly said. “Wasn't planning on eating here actually.”
George flicked her head to one side. “Are you sure? You don't look like you've eaten much.”
“I can just go make food at home,” he said through a forced laugh. “Besides, I really don't wanna bother you with anything, especially money wise.”
George lets out a short sigh. “Trust me, I'd be happy to spend extra, just so a little one like you could get something nice.”
Calamus’ feathers flatten at George's words, it almost made the red bird feel bad for even rejecting their offer. “If… it's fine with you, then sure, I could eat something.”
George laughs with glee, beaming at the red bird. "Don't hold back now,” she says as her hand slips the menu to Calamus. It takes a moment for him to notice, shakily grabbing a hold of it and flipping through random pages.
One passing bright green page catches his eye, and he takes his time to flip back to take a gander at it. At the top, this entire emerald green page was titled “Glen cuisines,” it almost made Calamus roll his eyes.
Amongst the common meals he'd typically have, he spots one that catches his attention. It was a classic lamb pot pie, something his mother used to make for his birthday. Although it was smaller, it piqued his interest.
It's been years since he had it. It wouldn't hurt to try it again.
On cue, a waiter with slicked back blonde hair approaches the table, pen and paper in hand. He glances at George with a fond smile. “Are you here for the usual, Ms. George?”
“Yes dear,” George briskly said. She briefly tipped her head to one side, gesturing at the waiter to talk to the scrawny Glenfolk next.
He turned to face the red bird, crouching to merely be face to face with him. “And what about you?” The waiter asks, without the same warm tone he used for George. Calamus’ feathers puffed out.
Calamus briefly opened his mouth to speak, but instead stopped, and just pointed at the picture in the menu.
The waiter hummed, writing everything down on the tiny notepad. With a click of the pen, he stood back up. “Thank you, kid,” he murmured before looking over at George, who proceeded to hand them some cash.
“I'll be paying for the little fella's meal, alright?” The waiter merely nodded, glancing at the two before walking away from the corner table.
Calamus sighed, his permanent sad eyes shining. “He doesn't sound like he likes me,” he said with a small whine.
“Don't worry about it,” George reassured. “That guy's usually chill, but I think he's getting a bit stressed over the storm.”
“Then why did he seem happy to see you?” Calamus asked with a worrying warble.
George laughed. “I used to be a regular here, but stopped after a while,” she explained. “They're probably just happy to see me here again.”
“Hm, why aren't you a regular here anymore?” Calamus chirped curiously.
“Well sweetie, just keep this between us two… but the small business cafe on the top refuge is just way better,” George said with an embarrassed chuckle.
Calamus’ talons clicked at the table, his eyes gleamed with amusement. “The one owned by a guy named Ling, right?” He asked.
George nodded fast. “Yes! Sounds like you've already made a visit there?”
“It's really not that easy to miss, ma'am,” Calamus scoffed and laughed. “He always gave me and my sister free bowls of soup whenever we had the chance to visit. I tried to insist that I can pay for it, but he always told me it's on the house.”
Calamus sighed. “Still, I always try to discreetly put the money on the table.”
She let a concerned noise slip as she tipped her head. “You know dear, it wouldn't hurt to accept the free stuff you get sometimes,” George said with less spark this time.
“I-I know! But it just doesn't seem fair to me. I should be working hard to get something nice, no?” George kept her troubled stare, and it almost made Calamus regret ever sticking his thoughts out there.
“Sweetheart,” George soothed. “It's okay to accept the help people give you, there's no need to put your worth down like that.”
“I know my worth!” Calamus argued like a squabbling bird. “But I feel guilty whenever people figure out our situation, cause then they immediately start offering to help… But I don't wanna bother them.”
“ I could see why they're helping you ,” George mumbled underneath her breath. Calamus’ eyes glittered with curiosity as he stared up at George, brows furrowed.
“What did you say?” Calamus chirped quietly. Before George could think of a reply, the both of them get interrupted by one of the waiters, carrying the food they ordered.
First he places Calamus’ order of a mini lamb pie. Then he places down George's, which turned out to be a nice little grilled sandwich with an olive poked through, and a side of juice of course. It almost surprised the lanky bird, he thought that someone like her would've ordered something fancy.
The two exchanged their thank you's while Calamus stood there, nervous. The waiter clicks their pen before scooting off to the back area. The red fuzzy bird merely looked down, his dull claws tapping the surface of the table.
The scent of rain and wind filled the air, the downpour seemingly getting stronger. For some reason, he just doesn't even wanna touch it.
“...hey,” George hummed. “Got somethin’ on your mind, little guy?”
Calamus shook a dismissive hand. “Nonono, I'm fine. Look,” he mumbled briskly. He hurriedly grabs his provided utensils and begins to dig into the mini pie.
The color looked off, but the smell was all there. Calamus felt a nostalgic pang in his chest. Taking a bite, Calamus notices that… It's dry. Doesn't even taste like the lamb he was familiar with.
He lets out a small cough. “Oh, this is not great,” he choked out with a forced smirk.
George merely chuckled, clasping her hands together. “Told you sweetheart. This place is really nice, but a bit mediocre in the food department.”
“Wouldn't need to remind me twice,” he chittered in amusement, with his eyes halfway closed. Though even if it wasn't as good as he hoped it to be, he can't just waste food like this, so he immediately dug back in slowly.
George has yet to touch her own meal. Tapping her fingers on the table, taking short glances at the scraggly bird. Then, she sighs. “You seem… familiar to me.”
“Hm?” Calamus hummed through a mouthful of mediocre pie.
The dice headed woman turned to face the bird proper, a warm yet concerned look on her face. “By any chance, is your father Rachis?”
Calamus almost chokes out his meal, hunching over with his feathers puffed out. Slowly, he stares up at George's enigmatic eyes. He clears his throat, “Yes, that's my father… why?”
George looked down. “I met him and his wife here, at this very table, years ago… though back then the two weren't married, they were… friends?”
Calamus stared on intently, pushing the mostly-eaten pie to the side as he listened.
“I was invited here by the Author and another friend of mine, back when we were in high-school. And right here, on this very table, I got to meet Rachis, and his best friend, Vane.
“We all chatted, had some fun, maybe even teased one another,” she said with a warm fondness. “Though when the Author and my friend left to get our order, or somethin’ like that, they told us to kinda just… talk? Introduce each other better?”
“Really?” Calamus asked meekly, George nodded.
“Y'know, I never interacted much with a Glenfolk before. I've constantly been stuck up in my room, studying, writing, all that stuff. So imagine my surprise when I kinda just… clicked with the two.
“Rachis and I shared the same interest in yellow phosphor, in spite of his lack of literacy skills,” she giggled. “And Vane had one hell of a vocabulary, like she'd always have something crazy to say. I'm surprised you haven't inherited that, sweetie.”
Calamus only chuckled, his wings suddenly easing. “I never knew that part of my mom, but I think my sister inherited it.”
George put a hand to her face as she giggled. “Eitherway, those two were the most fun people I've ever met. We even wrote stuff on the window here, I remember breathing on it and writing “Down with the government” in very fancy cursive.
“I was… definitely a little on edge back then,” she scoffed with a grin. “Though we had fun, I rarely ever saw them again. Only a few times, really. One time we all went stargazing, contemplating. Another time, we all went down a mineshaft and saw a really pretty stone and then… ah it's a bit of a blur sorry.
“But other than that, there's just a huge gap where we never saw eachother. The Author told me that the two were getting married, but I couldn't join unfortunately, just too busy. But I did meet them again, same restaurant, same seat…”
George sighs. “They were as lovely as usual, y'know. Bit calmer, but definitely still has that chaotic charm. Rachis even told me that the two of them were expecting a baby, which I assume to be…”
“Me,” Calamus interjected, an unreadable look on his face. George only nodded. “Why,” the red bird cooed low. “Why tell me this?”
George blinked. “I made a promise with them, They were worried about… something. And that if I ever found a Glenfolk that just so happens to look like both of them in some way, that I'd tell them something.”
Calamus’ eyes stared, unblinking and shaking. A familiar emotion welling up in his chest.
“They wanted me to tell you that… everything's gonna be okay. That no matter what you become or may be, they'd always love you with all their heart. Things are gonna get tougher, but they know how strong you'll be.”
George sighs again, longingly gazing out of the window, watching the raindrops fall so gradually. “Even if something ever happens to them, to your future friends, or to any of your future siblings, they want you to be strong… and they know you'll be strong enough, even after all of this.”
Calamus only stood back in his seat, eyes glazing over as his feathers bristle. He doesn't know what to think, what to say.
Suddenly he felt something burning at his eyes.
He's crying again. Why is he crying again.
He puts his hands to his eyes, holding back a short sob as those words held a grip to his aching, aching heart.
The red bird begins to speak, in a very uneven voice, “Sorry, sorry, I don't mean to cry, I'll stop-”
“Nonsense,” George interrupted before placing a soft hand on his shoulder. “There's no need to apologise for crying, you're just being you. Let it out as much as you want.”
Calamus let out a small few sniffles, as he rubs eyes with a feathery wing. “I miss my mom, I miss my dad, why did they…” his voice cracks.
“Life is always unpredictable, dear. It's sad, and it's awful. But that doesn't mean we should stop taking care of ourselves either.”
“But why,” Calamus croaked out. “Why is it hard to move on…?”
George stared on with saddened eyes, her hands moving down to hold the red bird's own talons. “It's always a lot to take in, it really is. But one day it'll go away… not fully, but enough to where you'll be back on your feet. You'll just need the support that you need to keep going, even just a little.”
Calamus tipped his head up, his vision fuzzy and blurred. His hand grips George's, and he feels safe. “Would they love me still, even if I'm not strong?”
George tilted her head, her gaze softening. “Of course they would, kid. They were your parents, and they would give up the world if it meant you'd be happy.”
The red bird still continued to sniffle and sob, but underneath it all, he's smiling.
George held her warm stare, brushing a thumb over the bird's trembling hand. As she eyes him more, she turns her attention to the meal that she had ordered a while ago.
With one knowing glance, she pushes her meal away from herself, and all the way to Calamus’ side, much to his surprise. “Here.”
“Nonono It's yours, I don't really need it,” he tried to stutter out, only to be met with George's little hushes.
“Sweetheart, I've seen my fair share of teenage Glenfolks like you, and you're by far the most concerningly thin one I've seen,” George teased, though a hint of worry still made itself apparent.
Calamus opened his mouth to protest, but something in him piped him down. He grabbed a hold of the sandwich, nervous. Glancing up at George, she held a reassuring look in her eyes, which eased the young bird.
After a short bit, he finally took a small bite out of it. Though it wasn't this almighty perfect sandwich, it was way better than the pie he was given. It almost made his long tail wag.
George softly laughed at the boy's pleasantly surprised expression. She reaches over and, though he flinches at first, he allows her to lovingly pat him on the head.
As George slouches back to her chair, an idea sprouts in her brain. She hurriedly stands out of her seat, much to Calamus’ confusion. “Stay here, I'm gonna ask something to the staff, okay kiddo?”
Tilting his head, Calamus nodded slow; That was enough for George to walk off to the other side of the diner, leaving the red Glenfolk by his lonesome for now.
As he continues to enjoy the food he was given, he took notice that the rain had begun to die down. The cold air suddenly becoming warmer.
He should finish this quick.
As Calamus properly picks up his groceries, even thanking the staff that passed by him on his way out, he's suddenly stopped by one of them.
“Hey, you're the kid that hanged out with Ms. George over there, right?” The worker asked.
“Uhm, yes?” Calamus replied with a warbling chirp. “Is there something wrong?”
The worker scoffs. “Nothing kiddo, she just wanted me to give you this,” they hand Calamus a cardboard cup with a lid that rested on the top. He wasn't quite sure on what it was, but it had the scent of cocoa, and it was hot.
“What is…” before Calamus could finish his sentence, a familiar dice head woman walked up to the boy; this time he held no fear.
“Hey! You goin’ out to leave already?” George said with much more enthusiasm.
Calamus chuckled. “Yeah sorry, don't wanna make my sister too worried about me, she'd headbutt me if I don't get my tail back home soon.”
George giggled, brushing the side of her coat. “Can't argue with that,” she murmured. “Though I do suggest you take the bus if you're in a hurry! It'll be the fastest route to the glen entrance.”
“Thank you ma'am, I'll keep that in mind,” Calamus chittered as he wagged his tail. Though another thought peers into his mind. He holds up the cup in his freehand. “What's this, by the way?”
“It's hot chocolate,” she said with a warm tone in her voice. “Specially made too! Thought it'd be a nice gift for you before you go.”
“Are you sure?” Calamus chirped worringly.
“Of course, sweetheart,” George hummed as she ruffled Calamus’ already messy hair. He lets out a short trill.
Calamus takes a step back and bows his head, the feather on the back of his head curled up. “Seriously, thanks for all of this. I really needed to hear those words.”
“No problem, darling. I'm just happy I could meet you. If you want, you and your sister could live here in the refuge,” George offered genuinely.
Calamus merely let out a fleeting chirp. “It sounds nice, but I think I'd just stick to visits every now and then… can't really beat the feeling of home.”
She closed her eyes with contempt. “That is true,” George said cordially. “Though, don't be afraid to come back here to ask for help, alright?”
The red bird looked up at her, body relaxed, and heart steady. “I will, thank you… again,” he laughed.
Calamus stepped towards the door, pushing it open slightly with his elbows. “See you someday, Ms. George!”
George waved a somber goodbye at the short bird. “See ya someday too!... uhh…”
As he stared with a confused stare, it only now hits him like a bat to the skull. “Oh stars! I never introduced myself, I'm so sorry—”
“Hey hey, no need to panic,” George reassured. “I never properly introduced myself either, so why don't we start with that?”
Calamus gulped, his feathers ruffled as he stared down at the floor, guilty. Though he keeps his composure, he sighs. “Okay,” he chittered amusingly.
She laughed. “Okay well… My name is George, as you may have already known.”
“Calamus,” he said immediately after. “My name is Calamus.”
“Really…? Gosh, that's a beautiful name, dear,” George spoke in a mellow voice.
The red bird meekly chirped, the tip of his tail wagging ever so slightly. “It's not that special of a name, but thanks… goodbye Ms. George!”
“And goodbye to you too, Calamus.”
The door bell rang as he shouldered his way to the outside world, the rain only being a light shower as opposed to the harsher downpour from before.
The scent of rainfall made itself apparent amongst the lampposts and tiny trees that littered across the street.
More people poured out of the buildings, some with umbrellas in hand, some with raincoats, and some with neither. Calamus though had his own wings and long tail to shield himself from the weather.
Not a moment too soon, and Calamus eventually finds a nearby bus stop, devoid of any other occupants. He ambled his way to one of the seat. Upon sitting down, he allowed his head to fall onto the glass window, sliding down for a bit until he was comfortable.
He was gonna be here for quite some time, yet he didn't know how to pass the time either.
…
He turns his face to the window, one side still stained with rain, and he breathes onto it, fogging it up. Quickly, he started writing whatever comes to mind.
It started with words formed into little check lists, like, “Remember to hit Magpie with a stick if he accidentally taught Alula another swear.”
Then it devolved to silly little shapes, hearts, squares, and all that.
Then finally, at the very end, he drew himself.
With his family.
He smiles, backing away a little to admire the end product of his little bored cruise. The sound of a nearby bus makes its entrance, and he knows he'll be home soon.
Taking one last glance at the ever fading doodle on the window, he picks up his bags and gift, and makes his way to the bus.