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“Um John, the action’s that way.” Greg hissed as he laid a restraining hand on Johns arm.
“Yes I know.” John’s voice was matter of face although a grin of wry humour twisted his face, “I’m just doing what the wannabe actor said to do.”
Greg snorted “Imitate the action of the tiger! Yeah well what I think he wants is for all of us to rush out there and mob them.”
“Yep,” John’s eye glinted with mirth “well that’s just sloppy research.”
“Oh?” Greg’s tone made the word an open invitation to expand on the topic.
John’s grin turned feral “Never seen a tiger hunt, have you? Or been hunted by one?”
Greg shook his head, “Rather not either thanks mate.”
John laughed, “Yeah well I may not be David Attenborough but I damn well know that tigers ambush prey.” He rubbed lightly at his left thigh, “Bloody things creep up on you when you’re not looking.”
Greg lifted an eyebrow, “Leapt out of the grass at you?”
“Well no, it dropped from the tree like a couple of hundred pounds of peeved kitten whose catnip’s just been stolen.” John deadpanned, jerking his head to indicate the other door.
“Come on while everyone’s busy being bloodily useless out front let’s go be tigers.”
Greg winced, the more he hung around John Watson the more he was amazed the man was still alive. “You’re the expert mate, you lead and I’ll hang around in the tree and critique your style.”
John mimed taking a swipe at his head fingers splayed like claws teeth bared as they headed out.