//Yer know,// Jono mused, picking at his guitar as he eyed the bright red bird who had been an unexpected flatmate for the past week, //I don't mind yer bein' a bird, Jean. As a matter of fact, th'company hasn't been too terrible, and yer not as messy as I'd expected yer might be. Yer haven't shat on anything in my room, at least.//
This was not Jonothon in any way, shape, or form contemplating getting a pet for himself, no.
//But I can't so much as change my trousers without kickin' yer out into th'hallway, and my bandages are starting to smell about th'same as the gunpowder we made in class today. If yer could do me a favour? Just one tiny favour? And turn back soon, I'd be most appreciative.//
He'd been saying this pretty much like clockwork every evening for a week, now. Sharing the room with Jak was one thing. Sharing the room with Jak and a bird was another. Sharing the room with Jak and a bird who happened to also be a bird in that very British sense of the word? Awkward. Very, very bloody awkward.
[For the bird!]
- Room 408, Monday Evening