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Grian had never had an issue before, with obedience.
As an avian, growing up in his colony had been a series of following orders and obeying rules. Breaking them, intentionally or not, resulted in brutal punishment. By a conscious retaliation or by a failure or a flaw, it didn’t matter. Grian had learned very quickly that obedience meant minimal suffering. He was well used to pain, but that didn’t mean he intended to bring anything extra onto himself. When he’d been sold at fifteen years old, off into the wider world of the old continent, it had been more of the same.
Obey. The rules and expectations, the orders in the collar around his neck, it wasn’t hard. Grian hardly questioned it anymore.
That was why this was just so strange.
“Eat. You must be hungry.”
He stood at the bottom of the stairs.
His new masters, the nature elf Scar and the human rogue Mumbo, were moving ahead of him. Mumbo was ferrying a few glasses and a pitcher of water as well as some sort of sweet looking fruit juice to the table. On the table roasted meat of some sort wafted from the central serving platter. Alongside it were steamed veggies and a loaf of bread, which Scar was already slicing into thirds. Then he was sitting down.
The table was set for three.
Grian awkwardly glanced around, taking in the space. They’d bought him early this morning, brought him here, he assumed this must be their home. It was cozy and bright, teal and copper colors that played well with each other. The round table took up a good bit of the area alongside the kitchen which was tucked beneath the loft. Above the loft was the bay window, where Grian had woken up a few minutes ago in a nest they’d made for him to rest in. He’d been brave enough not to silence his talons on the floor as he walked down, but now he was stalling out again.
Eat. He was being told to eat. It was an order he’d love to obey, at the moment, considering how his stomach was gnawing at itself from how hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten anything since the feeble excuse for dinner the hybrid market doled out the previous evening.
Before his punishment.
Just the memory of the tearing pain circling his wing roots, the force he’d had to drive into every aching muscle of his body, screaming out to just collapse, take the agony of the runes activating in his collar, ripping from his bones outward, radiating hurt…he felt a shiver run up his spine.
“Are you cold, little birdie?” Scar asked, concern immediately sparking in his eyes.
Grian jumped. “N-No, sir! Um…”
Dark eyes searched the space one last time, before he gave up. Threading his fingers together behind his back, he fixed his eyes at a point near his talons on the floor. As he drew a breath, he recalled the list he’d been hastily putting together the few minutes he’d spent walking with his new masters before Scar had knocked him out with nature magic to get some rest.
The vague memory of being gently cradled in Mumbo’s arms, the far taller rogue holding him against his chest like some precious thing, flickered through him a warmth that combated the phantom pains from last night.
Also recalled was one of the first items on that list.
They prefer eye contact.
Grian forced out a breath and raised his chin to match Scar’s emerald green eyes. The elf smiled comfortingly at him, and it reassured Grian that he was being good.
“…excuse me but…where is…m-my food?” It was a horrible question to ask. He was bracing himself for the backlash of it, he knew better than to ask for something like that. He’d never do so outright, but like…Scar was telling him to eat, and he couldn’t obey without knowing where the food was, so hopefully the reprimand would be light.
Scar’s brow momentarily furrowed. His mouth dropped half open, plump lips parting and then pressing together.
“What do you mean, bud? Foods on the table.” Mumbo said, noting Scar’s distress as he pulled back his chair and sat down.
Grian stared at the table a moment longer.
Three.
The table was set for three.
He couldn’t sense the presence of any third person, it was just his masters, and so, as unbelievable of a conclusion as it was…he arrived at it.
The third place at the table was for him.
He was meant to sit and eat with them.
The gnawing hunger in his stomach evaporated. Grian flicked his wings back, tightening them from the relaxed heart shape they’d been hovering in to coil against his spine. He unconsciously straightened his posture.
“I-I don’t…” He stammered, and Scar carefully leaned back from how he’d rested his weight partially against the table to cut the bread. He grabbed his cane, which was leaning against the back of his chair, and walked over to Grian. The gnarled piece of natural shaped wood had a rest for Scar’s elbow and made it easier for him to walk. He did so rather slowly, Grian wasn’t yet clear if that was due to the weakness in his legs or just a laid-back attitude. He’d only known them a handful of hours, only been conscious for mere minutes of that. Even if he’d eavesdropped on their conversation in the loft, which to be fair, he ought to have notified them he’d awoken immediately, he still didn’t have any hope of understanding their expectations.
Grian squeezed his threaded together fingers as tightly as he could manage, his breathing rapidly shortening as the two sets of tiny wings on his head pressed back flat above his ears to mirror his distress.
“Hey, hey…it’s ok.”
Mumbo’s previously comfortable expression had turned anxiety, Grian saw it in a flick of his eyes to check his second masters state. For the moment though, Scar was the one in front of him. He was still smiling so easily.
“We want you to come and eat with us.”
“At the table?” Grian found the words tumbling out, and his shoulders wound up tightly, shooting toward his ears. Scar saw the tension and put up a hand to dissuade it.
“Yes. Yes, at the table. I think it’s best to get to know people over a meal.”
Get to know people? What people? Me? Am I ‘people’? What is he on about?
None of it made sense.
But he’d been told what to do. Go and eat at the table. That’s what his masters wanted of him. Grian had never struggled to obey before.
But this was so wrong. He had never shared a meal with any of his masters before, so what was this?
What was with Scar’s firm yet incredibly comforting hand resting on his shoulder, a touch so feather-light Grian knew he could shake it off, get away from it if he needed? Guided him to the table, and Mumbo had already pulled back his chair before he’d sat down himself.
The food smelled so good. His hunger reawakened in a few sharp pangs, and he swallowed a keen that tried to work it’s way up.
Scar applied just the smallest bit of pressure downward on his shoulder, encouraging him to sit. Then the elf released him, and took his own seat.
Grian took a moment longer, rearranging his wings so the roots could settle over the back of the chair. It wasn’t the most comfortable in the world, sitting in a chair with a back with massive wings, but he wasn’t exactly used to being offered a seat at the table.
Which he needed to take.
Take.
Take.
“It’s alright…sit. Let’s eat before it’s cold…it’ll be delicious.” Scar said.
“Rather plain stuff, we haven’t been shopping in a big city for awhile, but it’s still good and hardy.” Mumbo pitched in.
Grian let his knees give out, and dropped onto the edge of the seat. He withheld a flinch. Yet the shift never arrived.
Dark eyes roamed the table as Mumbo hurriedly began filling the little avian's plate for him.
“I know you must be awfully hungry, but be careful not to eat to fast, or you’ll make yourself sick.” He said.
“Yes, sir.” Grian’s reply was automatic.
Scar clucked his tongue. “Ah-ah. You don’t need to call us that.” He reminded, but his tone was so rich and comforting that even if it was a reprimand, it felt like nothing from before.
None of this was like anything from before.
Grian didn’t believe it.
“Alrighty, let’s eat!” Scar declared, hooking his cane against the back of his chair once more as Mumbo fanned out his napkin and spread it over his lap.
Eat.
Obedience had never been something Grian struggled with, and to a demand like that, he wasn’t about to try.