Eglantine tilts their head a little, curious. “What do you enjoy other than vinegar, Ezekiel?”
“Music. Aromatic woods. Textures.” She blinks habitually. “Physical activity. Hunting. Nobody has ever asked before, not really sure what the difference is between purposes for which was designed and things that are desired.”
“The vinegar… is a preservative?”
“What sorts of textures?” Eglantine looks interested. “If it simply makes you happy or pleased, then it must be something that’s desired.”
“Preservative? No. Just slows down growing process so can stay in body longer. Textures. Jagged things, grainy things like sandpaper. Rusty things. From what is understood, don’t know if humans consider these things ‘desirable’. Could be wrong.”
“Does it matter if we find them desirable? If you do, that’s what matters in your case.” Eglantine shrugs. “Nobody likes all the same things anyway.”
“Still used to trying to blend in.” Ezekiel flits. “Humiliating how so much time was spent among humanlike and so little was learned.”
Flesh-Stick: Hey, I have the exact same problem and I AM a human. You’re doing fine, Ezekiel.
The Professor excuses herself in, and prepares a place at a quiet corner. Before she can sit, though, she winces and walk to the study door. She yells, to someone out there: “YOU ARE SLEEPING ON THE ROOF TONIGHT!”.
With a final roll of her eyes, she sits on her chair and picks a book to read, grumbling under her breath.
Flesh-Stick: hope there’s no glimfall tonight…
Isaree pushes open the door to the study and, with a soft rustle of skirts, makes her way to the towering bookshelves ahead. As she searches for something engaging to read, she gives a short laugh at the hesitant comment before her. “If there is to be a glim fall, I’d ready the nets! I definitely wouldn’t mind taking a part of that…”
Flesh-Stick: I only said that outta concern for the guy who had to sleep on the roof.
yawns and sits up to stretch…only to crack his head on the endtable
OUCH! MOMMY!
claps hand over his mouth in horror
Uh, I mean…oh fudge. I’ve injured my skull and smashed my mohawks. What a pity.
takes out a cookie and starts munching on it to comfort himself/keep himself quiet
Ezekiel turns her head in Fleshy’s direction, managing to focus the working eye on him. “Have been more erratic than usual, Mournful One. Everything is good, yes? No?”
Flesh-Stick shakes his head. He swallows a bite of cookie before speaking
Things are never good down here, but it’s okay.
goes over to the bookshelf and starts looking for something with pictures in it
"Mournful One. That’s very apt, Ezekiel. "
“He’s like a Elegiac Cockatoo. Loud, often cheerful, often vexing, colorful, and prone to fits of melancholy.”
Flesh-Stick: I have a crest, too
tries to fix his mohawks so they stand back up and is only partially successful
V. opened the door and soundlessly let herself in. She looked a bit surprised on how crowded the room already was, but quickly maneuvered herself around the chairs to browse a few books documenting the artwork of great masters. After making her selection, she carried a few volumes to a three legged desk, took out a few scraps of paper and a stub of charcoal, and started copying down figures and poses.
“This One thinks that it is not ‘down here’ that brings the pain in heart. It is life itself. But This One has never been to the Surface, so possibly wrong.”
Flesh-Stick: I was never sad all the time like this back home. But then, I’m not really the same guy I was back home. I dunno if that’s good or bad…
Also, Sinning Jenny pinned a rosette to my bare chest. Anybody got a bandaid?
“Good way of think. Maybe have grown more and see differently. When This One grows too much, can see things that are not good and need to leave Host. Maybe Mournful One needs to leave, not Host, but rather hiding place.” EZ hands him a bottle of neosporine.