Birds of a Feather

	The day had long since faded into night as Finnick stumbled back to his van in a drunken stupor, the vehicle tucked away in the safety of a small alley, away from prying eyes. The quiet jingling of fumbled keys bounced off the solid brick to each side before shooting into the inky black sky, unheard by another set of ears. He leaned down to snag them from the cold, wet ground, smacking his head against the door of the van has he came back up. There was a soft grumble of frustration that followed the jingling into the sky before he finally managed to get the back door open, scrambling inside.
	Inside, he could immediately tell something was off. Even in the darkness he could feel the eyes glaring back at him from where he stood. Even with his fine tuned low-light vision, it took a moment for him to adjust to the oppressive oppressive gloom. When he could finally see, he took off in a flurry of movement, racing for the bat leaning against the side as he spotted a massive owl, one that would have instantly torn him apart on any other day. He had barely enough time to stop the swing of his bat as he noticed the owl was shrinking away from him, its fluff, pure grey in the low light, pressing close against the skin underneath. The right wing was held away from it at an awkward, unnatural angle, stiffened and imperfect. And so he hesitated, and stepped slowly away from the massive bird, his head racing with more thoughts than he could count, or even process in his inebriation.
	“How’d’you get in here?” He questioned the bird, pointing the bat at it accusatorily. As it cocked its head at him curiously, he sighed, “You can’t answer that. You’re not gonna eat me if I put this thing down, right?” He continues, deciding to continue his interrogation regardless. He set the bat aside as he said he would and took a seat on a small couch, keeping his eyes on the bird. “Any other place and I’d be dinner to ya, huh?” With a long sigh he places his head against his paw, still struggling to handle the situation. Another, more agitated exhalation brought his head back against the couch, staring up at the roof of the van.
	“I suppose that’s true for a lot of us.” He continued with the thought, musing more to himself now. The owl stepped closer and flapped its unbroken wing slightly. Finnick wryly considered this to be agreement enough in his head. “Just predators with broken bits, who’d be dinner if things were different. It’s not so bad, I suppose.” He quietly reached over to a minifridge he’d rigged up within the back of the van and from it removed a beer and a small can of fish. It caught a thin strand of moonlight and glinted, catching the owl’s eyes as it swiveled to stare. Finnick chuckled, peeling back the lid with one paw and his legs while cracking open the beer with another. The beer, and some of the preservative juice within the can, spilled slightly from his sluggish movements. After a solid swig, and a disappointed groan, he quietly tossed a sardine to the owl, who caught it out of the air in a deft movement. “Tasty, eh? Not my favorite, but food’s food.” The owl very swiftly chomped down on each offered bite, ‘twoo’-ing with satisfaction each time.
 	When the can was finally emptied, it took a few more cautious steps over towards Finnick, who was meeting its curious gaze. The owl reached him, and slowly pressed its beak into his fur. He jumped slightly, but didn’t move away, entranced by the feeling of the beak slowly starting to groom his fur.
	The owl spent a few hours preening him, sharing the silence with him as he finished a drink, and then another for good measure. The silence, the drunkenness, and the comfortable warmth of the feathered beast pressing against him lulled him into a soft slumber.
 	Finnick woke with a start, scrambling for his bat and finding it missing from its usual spot. In its place, his hand made contact with the soft downy feathers of the predatory he’d found in his home the night prior. He could only make out the vague idea of the memories from the night prior, but as he stared at the bird, its eyes slowly blinking awake and staring down at him, he somehow found himself at comfort, no matter what happened.
	Finnick shifted to snag his phone from his pocket and slapped a quick-dial.
	“Hey. Yeah I know what time it is. Yes my head is killing me. Shut up, yes, I know, look. Can we use an owl for anything? Yeah, a full-sized owl. Broken wing, otherwise it’s fine. Okay, it’s here when we need it. Yes in my van, where else would I put an owl, Nick? Alright.”
	He tapped the hang-up button and sprawled out on the couch to rest his aching skull, the owl slowly nodding off in the corner as the daylight flooded in from the rear window. “What the hell happened last night…?” He mumbled through the ache before passing out again.