Lucky

Lucky would be the first to tell you that his words came before the thought of ‘should I say this or not’, usually without any sense of regret for his actions whatsoever... barring, of course, when the target of his comedy retaliates and teaches him a lesson – one which does stick, but doesn’t stop him from finding his fun in other ways.

As the ‘new guy’ amongst Buzzie and the other vultures in the jungle, the wiry, scruffy-feathered ‘bloke’ of the bunch found it easy to fit into the quartet’s rhythm, even if he did feel a bit like the ‘fifth’ between them at times. Still, they made it work, and they hadn’t shooed him off yet, so little victories, right? Plus, when he returned from what was sure to be his certain fate at the vicious claws of Shere Khan following one too many taunts from the gabby bird, they were relieved to see that he was still very much alive and well... albeit with his plumage plucked and a rather nasty shiner on one eye.

He wasn’t too rattled, though, at least not when everything was said and done; his feathers would grow back, after all, and the eye’d be no big deal ‘till it healed, by which point he’d be right as rain. Other avians would’ve probably been far too mortified to go around in public in their barest forms, but Lucky was the type of vulture who didn’t have much in the way of shame... or a filter... or much awareness beyond easy pickings for comedy.

The food certainly helped, though. He’d never been able to get meals like these back in his old stomping grounds. And nothing felt better after a savage beatdown from one of the most notorious predators in the jungles of India than a hearty feast to lift one’s spirits up.

Yep, he’d take the friends he had: Buzzie, Flaps, Ziggy, Dizzy – and a good place to preen any stray loose feathers from his wings over being the target of his own target’s ire.

On this particular pleasant afternoon in the jungle, Lucky found himself manning (or... birding? Either one) the vultures’ home turf in the treetops while they were off scouting for some scraps to pick at for lunch. Naturally, the nutty vulture, now sporting a fully-regrown set of feathers minus the bruised eye, took this opportunity to gnaw away at the more stubborn, looser vanes on his wings.

’Jungle humidity. What a pain in the tailfeathers. How do those mammals do it, honestly?’

The solitude would soon be disrupted by the rustling bushes nearby, leading Lucky to freeze up attentively, his bug-eyed, yellow-scleraed gaze scoping out the vicinity. Clearly, there was a critter mucking about, and whether or not they were ‘a goodie’ or ‘a baddie’ was up in the air until they showed themselves.

Regardless, Lucky kept a focused, firm gaze on the shrubbery, waiting in the only way a patient scavenger like himself does. His taloned feet gripped the branch he was perched upon, trying to be ready for anything.

As the rustling began to increase, the figure within soon made themselves known... and, to Lucky’s (pleasant) surprise, he found himself easing up at the sight of someone who was decidedly not who he thought it would be.

That didn’t mean he knew them off the bat, of course. Or maybe he did and he’d just forgotten. He does that sometimes.

Still, he couldn’t help but let his beak curl up into that quintessentially impish grin as he leaned a bit closer from his perch atop the tree, almost scrutinizingly observing their wandering form.

“Weeeelllll, look who we’ve got ‘ere, then, eh? You certainly ain’t Shere Khan, are ‘ya?” Lucky drawled out in a light, cockney-lilted, English-accented voice that seemed to derive from another area of wherever the other vultures’ more low, mellowly scouse tones originated. “Good thing, that – haven’t seen head nor hide of ‘im ever since he managed to crawl out of that tiger’s head statue down by the hot spots! Got a bit ’ahead’ of the game, y’know?”

The foolheaded vulture burst into a hysterical laugh, slapping the branch with a wing as he rolled back and forth, talons kicking in delight in the air. Soon, he let out a slow, wistful exhale to steady himself, meeting the new face’s gaze with his own, seemingly not noticing how visibly bewildered they were by whatever they’d just walked into.

“Ah, but enough about ‘im!” he then said, waving it off with a dismissive feather. “‘Sides, I barely made it with me head intact after he decided he wasn’t th’ biggest fan of my jokes. Tough crowd. What can ‘ya do, though.”

He tilted his head down towards them, intrigued – now he had something to do other than just sit here and wait for the others to come back.

“So, what brings you to our neck o’ the jungle? Make a wrong turn at the nearest oasis? Well, no need to ’leaf’ just yet, why not rest for a while? Just try ‘n not go ’green’ with envy before the lads get back, mate. ” He snickered again, covering his grinning beak with a wing for a moment. “The name’s Lucky. And yeah, you’d better believe it ain’t an inaccurate name.”

He puffed up his chest a little, pride radiating from his form, wings on his hips. “Like I said, you’re lookin’ at a vulture who poked the grumpy tiger an’ lived ‘ta tell the tale rather than become the scavenged one. Ironic, innit?”

Not a beat later, he gave another dismissive wave of his wing. “Don’t worry your pretty little head ’bout it though, buster; I’m not gonna try ‘n peck you to death or nuffin’ like that. I know, I know, I’m a vulture, so it’s in the job description – but we’ve never particularly been sticklers for ‘the rules’. Now, if you were to drop dead a moment’s notice, then yeah, that’d be an entirely different conversation.”

With his wing, Lucky motioned it towards their form, an easygoing look on his features. “And clearly you ain’t on death’s door, so you’re alright, mate. We’ve got standards in this part of the jungle, which includes what is and what isn’t our next meal. And you definitely ain’t on the menu this time.”

The vulture tilted his head towards them again, realizing he hadn’t even given them a chance to speak the whole time he’d been yammering on, visibly curious to know more about this stranger who hadn’t seemed to be put off by him (yet).

“Anyway, enough outta me – don’t leave me high ‘n dry here, stranger! You got a name? ‘Cos otherwise, the rest of us are gonna end up givin’ you a nickname that’ll be what you’re known as ‘till your last breath!”

A cheeky wink.

“Though we’ll probably do it anyway even if you do have a name. Fair warnin’. Or not. Up t’you.”