"I hate this," Warren says with a scoff as he tries to get one of his feathers out of the hamburger he made. Even with his oversized hairnet he put on his wings, feathers tend to escape. He's so focused on not touching the food that he doesn't pay attention when his huge wings bump into the deep fryer and stains them with grease. Angel groans in agony as he puts the sandwich down to cradle his wing.

He turns towards the counter and sees you standing there, waiting in line. When he sees your face, he's instantly smitten. "Welcome to McDonald's," he says in as sultry a tone as he can muster with a grease burn. "How may I take your order, sweetheart?"