Loshis 18, 2720
Charlie's flat, early morning.
The expression on Charlie’s face when he looked back, after he had taken the flask and set Tippy on his shoulder, made him feel as though he had done something wrong. He couldn’t begin to imagine what, but in the end he elected to chalk it up to the fact that it was still very early and Charlie was absolutely not best impressed to have him here in his home with the full intention of dragging him out birdwatching. He did wonder why Charlie had agreed in the first place, if he was going to be so disagreeable about the actual act of doing so. Perhaps the other man had assumed that “birdwatching” did not automatically mean “out at the crack of dawn, looking for birds” and instead meant some other time of day that was more in line with his usual schedule.
Most song birds were crepuscular, though, active mostly in the early morning and late afternoon, and it was the song birds he was most looking forward to seeing. Going out in the middle of the day would likely only net them crows and finches and the cackling gulls that seemed to exist in every possible corner of the harbour. He had liked them briefly, when he had first moved here. Their harsh calls had been a novel reminder of where he was, of the ocean just a few streets away. With time, though, they became one of a very small number of bird species that he didn’t like. They were greedy and loud, and often would crowd out smaller birds that deigned to forage in the same places they did. They reminded him rather a lot of schoolyard bullies, in that way.
He was jarred from this train of thought as Charlie expressed surprise that he, himself, didn’t have a pet. He looked down at Tippy, still perched ever so politely on his shoulder, her white feathers preened and pristine. He nearly got distracted comparing her to her master, but stopped himself.
“I’ve… considered it,” he said, “or some sort of pet, at least. It does get rather lonely in my flat.”
He preferred company, and always had. It was why he often went out to bars and nursed the same beer for hours. Just to people watch, really. To be around others and listen to the murmur of the crowd or the music or both. He had never much liked being alone, even as a boy. Not that he really ever was, with Georgianna at his side literally from birth. Perhaps an animal would do him good, fill some hole. He didn’t like to dwell on that, on being lonely. He took a drink of the coffee in his hand, then busied himself with scratching Tippy under her precious little chin.
