I’ve finished an older piece, titled “You’re not welcome here!”, where Liam Luna confronts Neville in an abandoned basement corridor of the Rebels’ hideout, right after Neville was recruited by the group’s leader, Leon Frostclaw.
For a change, I’ve also written a short scene for this piece which gives a glimpse into the dynamic between these two.
Neville, freshly recruited by Leon Frostclaw, the leader of the Rebels, drifted through one of the abandoned hospital’s underground tunnels. His flight was slow, unfocused, his mind louder than the silence around him, completely unaware he was being watched.
Above him, perched along a rusty pipe, Liam Luna tracked every movement.
The teenage little owl studied the nightjar with open contempt. The leisurely flight. The soft build. The lack of awareness. The bastard was already feeling himself too comfortably around here. A big mistake.
The guy clearly wasn't cut out for fighting. He was a feeble-boned, pampered fluffball with tiny legs, a glorified desk-jockey, and first and foremost, a prey.
He’d do better being served on a silver plate, plucked, with a sprig of sage up in his smug ass, rather than being one of them, a rebel warrior.
He’d overheard everything. Leon’s voice. The praise. The offer.
His stomach twisted just thinking about it. Him? That well-fed prey-bird? That winged toad? That sneaky little moth-muncher?
Well, apparently Leon thinks he's useful because he can tamper with files while working for the police.
“So what!? Big deal! Bet he’d betray us at the first possible chance, like he did with his own folk... but I'll show him!”
He took a heavy breath, waited until Neville dipped lower, just low enough for him to pounce. Gotcha!
The impact slammed Neville hard against the wall, his head jerked back. The air rushed out of his lungs as Liam grabbed him by the throat, claws digging in just enough.
“Waaay too slow, tubby~” Liam snickered, breath sharp with adrenaline, as he tried to balance himself with his wings, pinning his opponent to the cold, rusty basement wall. “Getting a bit soft on desk duty, are we?”
“Get off, punk!” Neville choked, trying to shove his wide, firm chest against the wiry owl, while his short, frail legs were grabbing Liam's long ones, wings straining for space.
“You’re not welcome here!” Liam hissed, amused at his vain attempts to break free. “Leon might think you’re useful, shredding a few papers for him, yada yada, but that doesn’t make you one of us. He just has a soft spot for strays, that's all.”
Neville, even though sweat was still beading on his temples, suddenly sneered at him, with a wicked glint in his eyes.
“You mean, strays like you?”
Liam’s grip tightened, his beak clenched so hard that Neville could hear the friction.
Neville coughed, vision flickering, but then he jerked forward and slammed his head straight into Liam’s hooked beak with all his remaining force.
Liam shrieked and recoiled, loosening his hold just enough.
“Screw you!” Liam spat, blood splattering from his beak, slashing at him again with his sharp talons, but Neville was already in the air, out of reach, where Liam couldn't follow him, due to his vestigial left wing.
He hovered just above him, breathing hard, eyes sharp now.
“Wanna know what makes me actually useful, brat?” Neville said, voice low, steadied.
“I’ve got sharper things than claws. After all, I’m the one who cleans up after your kind. And Leon knows that too.”
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