John had stopped when Rain put her hand up, now staring after the shape of the deer. Well, if there were deer wandering around, didn't that mean the birds were harmless? Or maybe picky with their company.
"Let's not give them a show, shall we," John muttered to his companions, pulling in two steps closer to them. They shouldn't be there. But then, John was quite frequently found in places he shouldn't be. That was what he specialized in. And to hell if a bunch of birds were going to intimidate him into skittering off back to the mansion. There were things he had to do. He didn't even have a choice. Angela was in danger, and the entire plane was teetering on the brink of a much fouler fate than Armageddon.
So, John took a step forward. And another. And then he was walking again. "Fuck the stupid birds." The comment was derisive and harsher than made sense. His shoulders were hunched up in agitation. Not fear, he told himself as he marched forward. Somehow, he managed not to flinch at every twitter and fidget of the birds.
John even reached into his pocket to retrieve a cigarette out of the pack Rain had given him. He had beaten things far worse than this.