The Activity of Inactivity

[ItzToxie]

((Michael Crowe and Kyran Dean continued from We're Mostly Made of Water ))

Michael had not wanted to come back here, but guess what was between the ravine and the parish? Take a gander, if you will. Come on, take a guess. Just guess. What? You're worried something's gonna happen in the meantime? Nah, don't worry we'll wait for you to check the map and come back here. You'd think they'd be able to walk around it or some shit, right?

Yeah, nope, not when the path in the woods has to go and do all this scenic bullshit, and you could say 'Hey, Mikey, go off the path!' but you know he'd be like, 'Hey buddy, fuck you, you try carrying a dude across the island off of a trail pass and see where it gets you, I ain't tripping and breaking my neck, shit!'

And now, here they were, close to the fucking warehouse. The shitshow, the place Mike had told himself he would never go back to ever. Not in a million years, never, nope, nuh uh, nada, fuck that shit. Yeah, he was right there, right back at it. Everyone else was gone to do their own things, but they planned on meeting back up at the parish, so fuck it, he figured he'd take a rest.

A rest that is a good fifty feet away from the chucklefuck convention that is that bitch brick warehouse. Michael set Kyran down near a tree, before finding his own tree to sit at. He sat down and stared ahead, looking at the path to the rest of the island in front of him. He took the time to wonder things like how long it'd be before they reached the church, how Adonis was holding up and if he found Saachi or not, if he'd ever find Everett or Scarlett again, or hell, if his parents are currently cashing out a life insurance check on him as we speak.

At the very least, the latter was a certainty. He leaned back when he heard the sounds of branches ruffling around. Michael looked up and saw the bird his hair was based off of. It looked down right back at him, before hopping to the ground below in front of him. There was something really unnerving about the bird. Michael could have said some bland generic statement like the fact he couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew what was wrong with it from the start.

The seagull was red. Well, it was white, but there was a lot of red, particularly on it's face and chest. Michael's first wonder was what, or who had the seagull been eating? The second thought was him wondering if this was some sort of warning. Michael found himself speaking out loud to the bird.

"Ay you fuckin' beach chicken, you some kinda' bad omen or some shit?"

The bird looked at him, then looked at Kyran, then back at him, then back to Kyran. It started doing it's stupid fucking bird shuffle to Kyran. Michael took that as an insult. He was not gonna let some stupid ass bird ignore and waddle away from him.

Michael grabbed a pebble and tossed it at the bird, the rock just missing. "You stupid fuckin' water pigeon! Answer me when I'm talking to you!"

Michael tossed another pebble, it getting closer, but not hitting the bird yet as it moved closer to Kyran's position. Michael was not gonna have a seagull eat his friend.

"Ay motherfucker, don't you fuckin' ignore me! I asked you a damn question!" Michael knew the bird wasn't gonna answer, after all, it was a stupid fucking bird, but he didn't really know what else to yell at the damn thing to scare it off, the rocks weren't working.

Despite that though, he grabbed another pebble, and tossed it at the mongoloid of a bird. It actually hit it's mark, bouncing right off of it's head. The bird stopped, then turned around, staring back at Mike.

Mike stared back.

Then the impossible happened.

It spoke; "To answer your question," with the voice of Cristopher Walken no less. "How in the fuck should I know?"

"...I'm a damn bird."

Then, the blood stained bird turned and flew away.

Michael could do nothing but stare in awe at the creature as it departed.

"W-w--what the goddamn?!"

((Michael Crowe continued elsewhere.))

[Cake]

Yep. Dreaming. Definitely still dreaming. He shut his eyes.

Maybe when he'd open them later, he would be back in bed following a midday siesta. Better than watching Michael Crowe babbling what a semi-lucid Kyran could only guess was supposed to be the intricate language of seagull.

Whatever.

[[Kyran Dean Continued To: The Whole Enchilada.]]