The Tangle nereo

@Itsy

Louis slid down the smooth surface of a rain-damp branch, his black claws clasp tight around the uninterrupted oakbark. He tilted his head mechanically this way and that, his black eye fixed hungrily on an acorn below.

There was only one problem. That acorn was in the greedy hands of a fucking squirrel.

Louis had seen that acorn first, he knew it. With an offended rustle of his wings, Louis considered what to his best course of action was. Actually, considering was a gross exaggeration: Louis had in fact already made up his mind the second he saw that acorn. Because that acorn was his.

He rustled his wings once more and dropped from the branch, which sprung back under his weight and shed several droplets of rain in the process. In a flurry of blue and grey, Louis fell on the squirrel with his talons raking for anything he could get. The squirrel, unused to such a violation of its personal space, let loose a girlish squeal and ran.

Victorious, Louis strutted around the dropped acorn, his feathers fluffed out and his wings folded neatly behind him.

Itsy had to take some cover, as the rain was coming down hard. She had found a bug and taken it into her beak, she took cover among some trees while setting it down. Then Itsy heard something, something squealed. Itsy glanced up from her branch where she saw a squirrel and bird fighting.

Dinner and a show, who would have guessed? She bent down to peck at the bug, trying to get what she could of it into her beak.

Bounce bounce bounce.

Louis' blue form bounded in a widening gyre around his newest prize. It was a big prize too, deliciously plump and his. His parade of magnificence was halted as he caught a flitter out of the corner of his eye, his form halted and his black eye fixed suspiciously on the subject.

It didn't matter that the subject, a greyish wren, presently was very little threat. To Louis, anything was a threat. Louis' cape of bright blues and blacks flared, and his little mohawk of a crest took on a startled quality. A wild, near-amazonian like shriek (a call he had picked up courtesy a wounded woodchuck) parted from his black beak, and he fanned out his wings protectively over the acorn.

He flapped his wings rapidly, so that he might appear bigger, while his thin tail fanned and black legs thrummed on the ground in a war-dance. "MINE!"

Itsy watched the blue bird, and suddenly he had his eyes fixed on her. And then he fanned out his wings over the acorn. She watched him curiously. An acorn? She had something better, a cricket. She looked down at the cricket that was headless by now, then back to the blue bird. Then to the blue bird. Then bent down to eat at the cricket.

An observer not intricately tied into the emotional investment that was a man nobly protecting his hard-won acorn might have realized, quite logistically, that Louis had his feathers in a ruffle over nothing. But Louis, too close to the crux of such a matter to see clearly, only saw his precious prize in peril.

His frenzied display seemed to grow more frenzied as Itsy looked up at him (or rather, down, given their current geographic arrangement), but as the grey bird went back to pecking whatever was in her claws, Louis' fevered dance stopped.

What on earth was more prized, more important, than an acorn?

He stilled his beating legs a moment and tilted his head to the side, that hungry black eye on the bird. What was it? What did it have? Was it an acorn?

Could Louis have it?

And then, with a fluttery pomposity to rival some fat dutch king, Louis alighted right next to Itsy, his claws held tight to the branch. He swayed a moment, cocked his head to the side so he could view the clutched insect better and tittered in a booming voice: "Wassat?"

Itsy held her cricket close as the other bird came flying over, curiously looking over her food. "This is Itsy's. Itsy's catch, Itsy's food." She turned her body away from the other, trying to get herself between the other bird and the cricket. Her cricket. Itsy's food. "Other bird go back to acorn, other bird have none of Itsy's food."

Louis bristled, indignant that his pleasing baritone question was answered in such a manner. He eyeballed her heavily as she clutched the cricket closer, his eyelids pulled in a dark squint. Certainly, if his beak was capable of any arrangement, it would have been pursed in a scowl.

Leaning towards her on his long, thin legs, an entirely unbirdlike noise broke from his beak: a repetitive croak. It was an old rhythm he had picked up as a fledgling, having parents which placed a nest situated precariously on the long arm of a willow-tree. A willow-tree that contently and assuredly spread its boughs out in the most awfully tepid swamp. Every night, the deafening chorus of bullfrogs would thunder through the otherwise utterly still encampment, and every night, Louis would listen rapt with inquisitive interest. The croaks that stirred from within his warbling chest were a wonderful imitation, full of deep gurgles and carrying with it the pleasant tones of a languid summer eve.

Yet abruptly, Louis fell silent. The cricket was uninteresting to him, but the bird was not. He thought a moment and then, Louis went all out in a chirrupy, sing-song banter. "This is Itsy's. Itsy's catch, Itsy's food. This is Itsy's. Itsy's catch, Itsy's food. This is Itsy's. Itsy's catch, Itsy's food." And then, silence again. He tilted his head and fixed her with an impishly keen eye, swaying back and forth delightedly on the thin branch.

Itsy leaned back a little as the other leaned towards her. She held the cricket close against the branch, afraid for her food. "Itsy's food" she said sternly. Then out of nowhere, the other repeated in song...and Itsy with a heart so dear and voice so high pitched she was eager to share in it. "This is Itsy's! Itsy's catch! Itsy's food!" The poor dear animals nearby having to hear it.

Louis clacked his beak, extremely pleased by the dusty female's reaction. For a few rounds he chirped in unison with her, switching between a deep baritone (his own, of course) and her lighter, higher voice. He soon tired of that, and scootched closer to her with an impish gleam held in that glassy eye.

"Itsy, Itsy, Itsy, Bitsy." He croaked, clicking his beak together after each repetition. "Itsy like pecks?" He tilted his head abruptly to the side, and then without warning pecked at one of her bare legs before taking flight with a loud cackle.

Itsy finished up the little tune they had going before the other bird finished with the tune. Then the other bird scooted closer again, and Itsy just stared at them as they did. She was never one for personal space, and was only interested in protecting her cricket. 

When he without warning pecked her leg, she flinched back and the cricket fell from the branch. "No! Food!" she cawed at the other bird, then went to dive after her cricket. It was hers.

hope the PP of the cricket is okay, if it's not PM me and I can change it :)

Louis, already airborne, circled around with a deft ease in time to see Itsy's cricket plummet towards the ground. Never one to miss an opportunity to play keep-away, Louis snatched the tumbling insect out from the air and bound ahead with a few flaps of his frantic wings.

He kept the cricket clutched close to his breast as he soared through the air, dodging through branches that ought to have been avoided, and diving between tangles of yellow-flowered bush. He was a flash of blue cackling delightedly as he went. Pelting skyward, Louis flew brazenly above the canopy for a few beats of his wings, before diving dramatically downward with a flourish. Mid-arc of hsi descent, Louis dropped the cricket - directly above a patch of tittering songbirds which had watched the entire procession with a most disapproving collectiveness.

Itsy could only watch as her score was taken by the blue bird. She gave chase, now screaming, or rather screeching for her food. Then the cricket was gone and she stopped on a branch, huffing. Staring in disbelief as the cricket fell upon other birds. Just like her score was gone, and she glared at the other. "Rude bird! Rude bird!"

He fluttered in midair, suspended a few breaths away as his drab companion shrieked her ire. Ooooops! Louis fell a few meters, buoyed only by the upward thrust of his wings. His beak clacked and he chirped with mirth "RUDE BIRD, RUDE BIRD!" Following after Itsy, Louis landed on the same branch. His weight was enough to sag the thin limb, which bowed under his weight. Swaying in place, Louis tilted his head and slid up the branch towards Itsy with gentle trills.

Louis was delighted with how his prank had gone, but Itsy seemed sad. Hmm. Louis hadn't intended to make her sad. Sad birds were not as fun as rude birds. He cocked his head rapidly from side to side, as if looking out of each eye would magically make Itsy's sadness go away.

It didn't.

"Itsy want cricket?" Louis' feathers fluffed, as if a stirring of wind ran through them. And then, like everything else Louis did without warning, Louis dove into the cluster of birds that scattered in songbird-shrieks as he terrorized them with loud booms of his voice: "RUDE BIRD, RUDE BIRD, RUDE BIRD!"

Itsy glared at the other as they once more repeated her. She moved away along the branch till she had no more room, feeling angry at the other food. She had lost her dinner. Then they did something very unexpected...

The other bird asked if she wanted the cricket, and with a soft glare, she gave a stern quick nod. Then they dove down at the songbirds, trying to get them to fly away. Itsy took advantage of this, and down she flew to retrieve her dinner, returning to the branch.

Louis flew about the startled congregation like a blue dart, his cackles ringing loud and clear through the woodlands. The birds were quick to depart, leaving only a few fluttering feathers and the sway of suddenly-burdenless branches in their wake. Content with the uproar he had caused, Louis swung back around to Itsy in time to see her alight on a thin branch with the cricket clutched tight in her talons.

The blue demon gave a trill of delight and landed a few branches below, ruffling his feathers as he sang to the bird above: "rude bird blue bird rude bird blue bird rude bird blue bird rude bird blue bird rude bird blue bird," The melody cycled between soft soprano and startling deep baritone, swapping cyclically in a singer's expert pitch.

The blue bird continued to fly about, and while Itsy held her little cricket she just watched the blue bird fly around. Then landed below, singing up to her. If birds could smile, she would be. But she only looked down, holding her own cricket in her talons. And then she looked at the bug...and thought on how the blue bird had helped get it back.

"Nice blue bird. Blue bird mean, but blue bird help" she chirped back down.

Louis's singing tapered to a natural conclusion (silence, which was rare as hen's teeth for the blue bird), and he clacked his beak shut with a final flourish. The bird in the branch above still guarded her cache - an act that was unsurprising to Louis. What was surprising was her compliment, if it could be regarded as such. Louis took it at its highest order, and seemed to inflate to absurd proportions for such a naturally stream-lined bird.

He fluffed his feathers a millionth time, and responded in a loud cackle: "kek kek kek kek kek KEKK," Bobbing his head to the beat of each cackle, Louis assessed his complimentor with beady yet delightful eyes.

Itsy wagged her little tail at the cackle the blue bird made. Glad her compliment got through. But still, still she kept her eyes on the blue bird in case they would try something again. "Does blue bird have food?" she asked, now wondering if it had been out of fun, or if it had in fact been out of hunger.

Did blue bird have food? Was the sky blue, did the pope defecate in the woods? Louis swung round on the branch and let loose a wild brack brak brrraaakkkkk noise as he contemplated how to answer. Of course he had food -- but why was she asking?

Did she want it?



Yeah, that wasn't going to happen. Louis was onto her game, she wanted him to betray the location of his acorns so she could take them. You thought Louis stupid? RONG!!

"MINE!" He trilled loudly, opening up his wings and fanning them as he teetered on the branch. And then, because he was concerned his cache of acorns might be under assault, Louis abruptly flew away.

Itsy waited for the answer...then the blue bird trilled loudly and was off before Itsy could offer to share. She just stood there perched on the tree. Then once she thought the blue bird was never coming back, she started pecking into the cricket and she was eating away at it, the meal that she had earned.

This was a fun thread!. Thank you