[ prp ] habits ( thezil & sorcha )

[its me debz]

Today he had the pumpkin head on, orange and balanced precious atop his well-dressed shoulders. The flame inside his jack-o-lantern was bright, the smoke furling through his mouth in lazy drags. He had a notepad out, jotting down brief notes on every student that passed by, staring at them a little too long with his cut-out eyes.

At first, the habit had started as a way to do research on creeple, to see if they might hold the secrets of his head. But lately, Thezil just found that he liked it. To observe details, to try and form a narrative for the being that passed him by, with no care to its accuracy.

It was as close as whimsical as he got.

As the latest ghoul walked by, Thezil studied her, and began to take his notes.

inle-roo

s**t i dunno lmk if she wouldn't talk to him and i'll edit in him talking to her!

 

[Inle-roo]

Bright and shiny things often derailed Sorcha's train of thought, which was never really quite on a firm set of tracks anyway, so when she caught sight of the flaming eyes of the student with the Jack-o-lantern for a head--and how wonderful that must be, she thought, to be so festive every day of every year--she couldn't help but stop and stare and admire.

It was--fortuitous, yes, that the student also happened to be staring at her, because she had once been told that it was rude to stare, but it must have been okay if mutual staring was occurring. Surely that must have cancelled something out somewhere that Sorcha might have cared about if she cared about such things.

But then the moment ended and apparently it had been so special that the boil stopped to write it down, or something like that. Sorcha hadn't had the foresight to have pensnake and paper handy, but she wished, suddenly, that she had, so she could write about the time she met the boil with a pumpkin for a head and then immediately forget about it.

"Yes, hello," she said, boldly walking up to the boil. "What are you writing there? It's quite rude to stare, I hear."

cherno astra

 

[its me debz]

Thezil startled, a little, when the subject of his writings crept closer without shame or hesitation. What a curious specimen! Like Hollandaise, he supposed. Hopefully not quite so pushy.

"Hello," he returned in greeting, voice whispery and insubstantial. A puff of smoke escaped his toothy mouth, "I was writing stories." The Object Head held it out to her in offering, unashamed. The chicken scratches were barely words, but they told stories about various students and teachers, most of them fantastical. (And weird. Definitely weird.)

Sorcha's story told of how she ruled over a small dominion of gremlin minipets, and her favourite food was treat jerky.

"It is just a hobby."

Inle-roo