One Stone
Morning. Sunlight. Bomber rolled over and blearily looked at her alarm clock. Only seven. Shore leave meant sleeping in. Sleeping in was fun –
Brr, brr!
She groaned. No, no, no... not now.
Brr, brr!
"Shut up!"
Ignoring her yell, the extremely loud sound of the telephone continued.
"Bec!" her flatmate shouted. "Now!"
"You are going to regret this," she snarled, pulling herself out of bed. "I will buy low-grade birdseed. I will clip both your wings. I will pay for someone to surgically remove your voicebox."
As soon as she reached the bird cage and opened the door, the sound of the telephone stopped.
Turning back to her bed, she flopped down, hoping the cockatiel would be satisfied enough with freedom that he might allow her an extra hour or two of peaceful...
"Becca!" She groaned. "Bec-ca!"
"Shutup, shutup, shutup!"
"Starry, starry night... Staaaaaarry!"
Bomber reached for the pillow and stuck her head underneath it. "You are worse than Spider. Do you understand what an insult that is?"
"Can you make breakfast?"
"No."
"Can you make breakfast?"
"Yes."
"Can you –"
The cockatiel cut off with an indignant squawk, as a pillow landed on top of the cage.
And then, for a few minutes, there was silence. Blissful, wonderful silence. Utter silence.
Bomber lifted her head, worried. She hadn't hit him, had she? No, the pillow was just sitting on the cage... but then, where was he? He wasn't on the open door, he wasn't on the bookshelf, he wasn't...
Swallowing, she sat up. Then she groaned, and flopped back down.
He was walking across the floor. Towards her. A moment later, there was a slight tug on the top blanket as he began climbing up it onto the bed.
When she next woke, it was to the sound of soft singing. In fact, not even singing... more like crooning.
"Birdie?" she asked in confusion, looking up blearily. The cockatiel was sitting on the headboard, happily watching her as she slept. At the sound of his name, he stopped singing and looked at her, his crest rising and falling repeatedly. "That was nice. Keep doing it."
He stayed silent. Bomber gave a low whistle and, catching on, Bird resumed his tune.
Figuring she could grab something for breakfast while he amused himself, she slipped out of bed, and headed for the door.
An outraged screech came from behind her, and she sighed, backtracking. "I'll be back in a minute," she promised. "I'm hungry."
The bird nodded happily. Bomber took a step back to the door – another angry yell.
She looked back. "Fine, you wanna come with?"
He bobbed his head several times, and she offered him a finger. Ignoring it, he jumped onto her arm and ran up to her shoulder.
"Can you make breakfast?" he asked, and she rolled her eyes.
"That's where I'm going now."
"Can you make breakfast?"
"I am a chef, you know."
"Can you make breakfast?"
"Whaddya want?"
"Breakfast!"
"Cracker it is."
Entering the dining room, she dropped Bird onto his play table, and moved into the kitchen. As soon as she continued on to the kitchen, there was a squawk.
"Shut it, Bird," she growled. "Or I'll take you back to your cage."
He squawked again. Opening the fridge, she bent down, out of sight. An alarmed chirp was followed by the flapping of wings, and she felt a feathery lump thud into her back.
Sighing, she stood up, and he quickly climbed onto her shoulder.
"It's not hygienic, Bird. You can't come into the kitchen."
She lifted a hand, and he pecked sharply at the offending finger.
"You have serious attachment issues, you know that?"
He nodded. "Breakfast! Breakfast! Starry starry breakfast!"
Giggling, she reasoned that so long as he didn't jump off her shoulder into her food, it'd be okay.
Bomber's flatmate came home that evening to find Bomber watching TV, the house devoid of squawking, and the cockatiel's play area empty.
Somewhat apprehensively, she asked, "Where's Chez?"
Bomber frowned. "Who?"
"Your bird."
"Oh, he's right here." And sure enough, Bird was perched happily on Bomber's shoulder, his head tucked near his feet as one of Bomber's fingers scratched the feathers on his head.
"He's... wow. Why have you got him up there?"
"Because... I'm experimenting with something... the more time I spend with him, the less annoying he is."
Bomber almost bounded onto Hammersley when shore leave ended. She'd been able to sleep in whenever she wanted, so long as she was within sight of Bird and his cage was unlocked. While she was in sight, the nerve-grating screeching stopped.
"Hey Bomb!" Spider called, jumping on board behind her. "You look chirpy."
She grinned. "Really? I thought there was significantly less chirping."
"Good shore leave?" he asked, frowning in puzzlement.
"Yep."
"Okay... so, what's for breakfast?"
"Crackers," she replied, still grinning widely.
Bemused, he began to walk off, muttering to himself. Deciding it was time to test out Phase 2 of the Plan, Bomber called after him, "Hey Spide, you want to help me in the galley today?"
His eyes lit up, as brightly as if she'd just asked him if he wanted to explore Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory.
"Anything you want," he agreed eagerly, then quickly headed inboard.
Nearby, Buffer – who had seen the exchange – raised an eyebrow.
"You are in a good mood," he commented.
Bomber smiled innocently. "Two birds, Buff. Two very annoying, but sweet, birds..."
