It’s been years since Rocky had been on a farm, but he’d take it over the circus by all means. And he’d keep it that way for as long as Ginger, the mildly hard-boiled ‘leader’ of these optimistic hens, kept her beak shut about it.

So, quick recap: these chickens wanted to flee the coop and escape the wackos that owned it, because otherwise they would be, to quote their leader, ‘plucked, stuffed and roasted’. Yikes. Admirable cause, but not one that Rocky was keen to get involved with. However, Ginger had more or less blackmailed him into teaching them how to fly, due to having seen his triumphant, mildly embarrassing (and painful, as evidenced by his still-busted wing) crash landing, which gave her the idea that he could fly. Obvious connection, right? The poster probably didn’t help matters much.

But even still… boy, was this awkward. He didn’t want to crush their spirits (not yet, at least), and he definitely didn’t want her to blow his cover in case his ‘owners’ came a-calling, so in a fit of impromptu improvisation, he instead decided to put them through a ‘crash course’ – pun intended – to help toughen ‘em up a bit, give them a bit of motivation to do… whatever they were planning on doing to get out of this joint. Sure, jumping a fence like that was practically a death wish, but whatever happened next wasn’t his problem, he just wanted outta here ASAP and get back on the road to freedom.

That being said, he did enjoy the perks this little vacation granted him; he had all the creature comforts, a lotta babes and a nice place to rest his tail-feathers… even if he had to share it with Fowler, the grumpy old grandpa rooster who was still in a huff over the ‘typical wanton American’. Classy folks, the British.

As the other hens bumbled and squawked their way through Rocky's 'training regime', the rooster decided to lean back against a bale of hay and watch the magic unfold, which is when he was approached by another chicken amongst the coop, one he hadn’t yet become familiar with but looked far less confident in themselves compared to the others.

That’s alright, though - the meek ones were always fun.

“Well, hey there, youngblood.” he greeted in that smooth, charming drawl of his with a smirk. “Don’t mind me, just providing some, ah… ‘moral support’ for your friends here, since they’re working so hard and all. I don’t know if you’re exactly in on what your glorious leader has planned, but if you wanna give it a shot, go right ahead. I sure as heck won’t stop you.”

Rocky eyed them with an artfully wry onceover, clocking their unease. “Though, I gotta say… you seem pretty over-easy compared to doll-face. Maybe a little too over-easy. What’s your story, huh? Got a tragic backstory for the ages? Or are you just not the sociable type?”

He held up his good arm to deter anything they were about to retort with, deciding to work his natural charisma to help ease their nerves a bit – his specialty, of course. “Hey, don’t worry, I get it – small talk isn’t for everybody. But trust me: I’m all ears, even if you can’t see ‘em, so lay it on me, pal. I guarantee you there’s nothing you could say that would shock me. I’ve seen it all.”

Which was true. Besides, he figured he had plenty of time to spare while the other chickens went about their ‘exercise’, so why not? Nobody could say he wasn’t a great friend, after all.