John had seen some sh* te. It came with the profession. And of course he knew shapeshifters were real. He just didn’t expect to have to deal with one directly. Nor did he expect said shapeshift to pretend to be a bird for three months. Three. Months. Bloody hell. John was so done with this. He needed a drink.

Standing from the couch, where he’d been sitting across from the bird turned human, John smiles wryly.

“Fancy a drink, luv?”

Without really waiting for a response, John wanders into the kitchen and starts pouring two glasses of irish whiskey. Not bothering with ice or anything. Two mismatched whiskey glasses even. For fun, half way through pouring, he takes a swig from the bottle. Once the glasses are even, he brings them back into the living room and sticks one in the bird shifter’s hands.

“Roight, so, fill me in, luv. Why’d’ya pretend ta be a bird familiar fer months?”

Looking at them over the rim of his glass, John takes a long deep sip and hums low in his chest. Damn, he already needed more whiskey. Once again, not giving the bird person a chance to respond, John gets up and trails into the kitchen, pouring another glass and this time, he brings the bottle back with him. They sit in silence for a few minutes as John downs two more glasses and finally gets impatient.

“C’mon, luv, out with it. Why ya playin’ me like I’m daft?”

Now that John was looking at the shifter, they were quite dishy. Even though they were dodgy. Maybe his luck would turn up and he’d get a good shag out of this. Even a snog’d be acceptable.

Damn, already on cup four, John sighs.

“Stop faffin’ an’ start talkin’.”

John pulls out a pack of cigarettes and offers it to the shifter, shaking it encouragingly.