theydrewfirstblood | [PUMPKIN HOLLOW] INBOX

John's out on the town when suddenly there's a shadow overhead. No, not a military aircraft, not even a helicopter...that's a whole ass bird-man, about to land on the roof of the building John just walked out of. What the fuck?

For a second, his heart starts beating faster—it really does feel like an aircraft, that heavy dark shadow passing over him as he walks out of the Oak and Iron.

It’s a little easier, though, to remember himself. Maybe it’s the fact he’s eating better thanks to Freeman, who he’s still trying to track down discreetly, or maybe he’s just…feeling better. He’s visiting Hawkeye and River semi-regularly, goes up to the farm once in a while to visit Eddie, Angel, and Bobbin, he’s more proactive about looking for work as his confidence sort of grows…

But the shadow passes over him, he stops, afraid, and manages to breathe through it before turning to follow the shadow back to the building.

Where a man-shaped bird is on the roof.

“…hi.”

Hey, if he’s gonna hallucinate, might as well be polite.

"Are you used to being swooped at? You seem nervous." The hallucination is, at least, apparently aware of the effect he's had on John. There's perhaps a faint note of apology in his tone of voice.

(Don't ask how he's speaking without lips, he just is.)

He tucks his wings, makes his presence a little smaller. Tries not to be so obviously a bird of prey.

"By choppers, yes. Birds, no." John replies, sliding his hands into his pockets as he regards the bird on the roof evenly, if still nervously.

"They also don't tend to talk. Birds, I mean."

“What’s a chopper? They sound…violent.” He bristles and then shrugs his shoulders. “I’m an eisfurra, not a bird, strictly speaking. Birdfolk, in the common tongue, but that’s like comparing a gnoll to a lapdog.”

"Helicopters--flying machines." John replies, suddenly unsure if they have things like airplanes in a world with bird men--sorry, eisfurra.

"...is a gnoll a...is it dogfolk?" John ventures uncertainly, still looking up at the bird person.

This is...strange, even in this situation. Would he be rude to ask him to come down? John's still not convinced this is entirely real...

...Christ.

"More like, erm, hyenafolk?"

Cerrit eyes John thoughtfully, perhaps sizing him up. Perhaps something else.

"I can find another roof if you're nervy about me."

John's not sure why, but that makes him laugh--just a little, but it's enough to unwind some of the tension building in him. It's...oddly normal for such an out there situation, and it...it helps.

"It's more the angle." he admits. "Talkin' to a bird--an eisfurra is weird, but talkin' to literally anyone just perched on a roof with no safety gear's a little unsettling. But, y'know, I won't ask you to come to ground level if that's an insult or anything. Not sure of the etiquette here."

“Safety gear? Silly humans.”

But Cerrit moves right to the edge of the roof and flitters gracefully to the ground near Rambo, before straightening a feather or two with his beak. Big bird is still bird.

That gets another laugh out of John—and yeah, the preening is still weird. But? Less…unsettling on equal footing.

“There…still a lotta feathers, but it’s easier to look you in the eye.” He decides aloud. On reflex, he offers the guy his hand—then looks unsure again.

Do his kind shake…wings?…

“Uh…name’s John. John Rambo.”

There is a hand that comes out to shake John's. It is scaly, and tipped with very sharp talons.

"Cerrit Agrupnin. Nice to meet you, John."

And yet, if the handshake happens? He is so incredibly careful with the talons, they never touch skin.

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