# Chapter 7: The Fallout

Amelia woke to darkness and the soft warmth of John's body pressed against hers. They had fallen asleep on the living room floor, surrounded by scattered manuscripts and scrolls, their skirts bunched and tangled around their transformed legs. Her cloaca was still sensitive from their earlier encounter, and she could feel the dried residue of cum on her feathers.

Then she heard it.

A thump from the bathroom. Then a curse. Then another thump.

Amelia sat up, her chicken instincts making her head swivel toward the sound. The cabin was dark except for a sliver of light from beneath the bathroom door. She glanced at John's sleeping form—except he wasn't there.

"John?" she called softly.

Another curse, louder.

Amelia stood, her talons clicking against the hardwood, and padded to the bathroom. She pushed the door open.

The sight stopped her cold.

John was leaning awkwardly against the toilet cistern, his floral skirt bunched around his waist, his deer penis fully erect. He had positioned himself sideways, trying to angle his hips downward so the long, curved organ would point into the bowl.

"It doesn't work!" he shouted. He noticed her and his face flushed. "Amelia, go away!"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to pee!" He adjusted his grip. "I thought if I leaned back, I could point it down, but—"

He demonstrated, shifting his hips, and his penis curved upward stubbornly. Then he tried leaning forward, and the organ pointed straight ahead, missing the bowl.

He turned around, bracing his hands on the tank, leaning forward. Now his penis pointed into the bowl.

"There," he said, relief in his voice.

Amelia watched as his tail twitched. His body tensed. He let out a shaky breath.

And then he started peeing—but not from his penis.

A stream of yellow urine sprayed from beneath his tail, from his deer vagina, splashing against the back of the toilet seat, the wall, the floor. John whipped his head around.

"No, no, no—"

The urine kept coming, arcing wildly. His tail wagged, twitching with each spurt. Yellow liquid pooled on the tile.

"It's coming from my—" He couldn't finish. "Why is it coming from THERE?"

"GET OUT!" John shouted.

Amelia backed away, pulling the door mostly closed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

She could hear his ragged breathing, the continuing splash, then silence.

"I'll make some tea!" she called, her …