Gilded Bay and i'm so hot cause i'm in hell

there's not a lot to do at noon when you're a fat fucking bird with no life, really; if there's anything shell has learned by traveling so far, it's that the boredom never goes away. nothing changes. he can be an antisocial loser on this beach or on the next beach over or — hell, if he's feeling real crazy, maybe over some cliffs. not that he has any real interest in a social life anyway. been there, done that, no thanks.
he'd much rather just find himself some late breakfast and maybe a nice place to nap. which is exactly what he's doing now, actually. or, he's trying. admittedly it's difficult to focus when there are a bunch of loud assholes crowding him, but he's certain if he can just get a good grip on this crab —
hey what the fuck, his cry is shrill as his find is quite suddenly snatched from him. by the time he looks up, the thief has already darted off. asshole! he calls after the other, shaking out his feathers indignantly. nope, nothing has changed at all.