It's sort of awful, how grateful he is when Martin takes the hint and quietly shuts himself in his bedroom to work -- or just to give them some privacy, most likely (he doubts Martin has poster board coincidentally tucked away in his closet). At this point, he probably ought to be beyond embarrassment, but he finds he still has plenty to spare for the thought of Martin watching as he makes what will surely be some awkward attempts to get this new body under control.
Hell, being observed by Daine is bad enough, and he doesn't even know her. It would be easy to let that cocktail of embarrassment and unfamiliarity sharpen into resentment, but as she briskly sets about educating him, he finds he can't. She's too bloody sensible. Her evident familiarity with the whole idea of getting used to a new shape, combined with an apparently natural aversion to mincing words, make her an empathetic and efficient teacher. Nor does it take him long to appreciate that beneath her folksy exterior is a deep well of biological knowledge, which makes her really rather good at describing human equivalents for cat things (like how he might think of his paws as hands to better keep his claws in check, which puts a merciful end to his tendency to get snagged on Martin's carpet).
After about an hour, he's reached the point where he's confident he can walk and even run normally, his claws are under control, and jumping onto high places is only slightly terrifying. Before changing back, she coaxes him into making the very high jump onto the counter of the WC, so he can actually get a look at himself for the first time.
His reflection is... a shock, to put it mildly. He'd gathered that he was brown, but that's about the extent of it. He didn't know his ears were so bloody large. Or that he was so... long. Apparently Magnus saw fit to turn him into an oriental shorthair. Christ. He should probably just be grateful he didn't go with a bloody sphynx, instead.
Daine pronounces him 'good enough to be getting on with' -- John can't decide if that's an insult or praise, and quickly gives up trying -- and as he leaves the WC so she can situated, he finds himself eyeing Martin's bedroom door. Now that he feels like less of a disaster, guilt gnaws at him. Martin, of all people, shouldn't have to sequester himself. What if he's... lonely?
It's a stupid thing to worry about, probably; Martin's flat is currently as full as it's ever been (unless he's hosting dinner parties he hasn't yet mentioned). But he's still shut away, and after a few moments' hesitation, John walks up to his door and rears up onto his hind legs, one paw braced against the wood, the other rattling the doorknob.
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Hell, being observed by Daine is bad enough, and he doesn't even know her. It would be easy to let that cocktail of embarrassment and unfamiliarity sharpen into resentment, but as she briskly sets about educating him, he finds he can't. She's too bloody sensible. Her evident familiarity with the whole idea of getting used to a new shape, combined with an apparently natural aversion to mincing words, make her an empathetic and efficient teacher. Nor does it take him long to appreciate that beneath her folksy exterior is a deep well of biological knowledge, which makes her really rather good at describing human equivalents for cat things (like how he might think of his paws as hands to better keep his claws in check, which puts a merciful end to his tendency to get snagged on Martin's carpet).
After about an hour, he's reached the point where he's confident he can walk and even run normally, his claws are under control, and jumping onto high places is only slightly terrifying. Before changing back, she coaxes him into making the very high jump onto the counter of the WC, so he can actually get a look at himself for the first time.
His reflection is... a shock, to put it mildly. He'd gathered that he was brown, but that's about the extent of it. He didn't know his ears were so bloody large. Or that he was so... long. Apparently Magnus saw fit to turn him into an oriental shorthair. Christ. He should probably just be grateful he didn't go with a bloody sphynx, instead.
Daine pronounces him 'good enough to be getting on with' -- John can't decide if that's an insult or praise, and quickly gives up trying -- and as he leaves the WC so she can situated, he finds himself eyeing Martin's bedroom door. Now that he feels like less of a disaster, guilt gnaws at him. Martin, of all people, shouldn't have to sequester himself. What if he's... lonely?
It's a stupid thing to worry about, probably; Martin's flat is currently as full as it's ever been (unless he's hosting dinner parties he hasn't yet mentioned). But he's still shut away, and after a few moments' hesitation, John walks up to his door and rears up onto his hind legs, one paw braced against the wood, the other rattling the doorknob.