[He wants to argue, but has no energy to do so. He lets his head hang, too exhausted to worry about how she uses her blood, or how the hunger is still gnawing at him, or how he's not wearing any pants. He'll have to walk home in his Shift, as these days, "giant monster" is less of a shock to the general populace than "man with no pants."]
[He hns to himself as he feels her wrap his arm around her waist; he keeps his eyes nearly shut, taking off the blood-made spectacles and setting them atop his head. Sorry, Northly - he just can't keep that reminder of what horrors they're becoming in front of him.]
Don't really know the birds of this world. [He tries to focus on the rest of his senses: the grass feels good beneath his feet, the claws on his toes — rarely seen, as he so often is wearing shoes — catching on the dirt.] Lot of blue ones last year, though.
[He lets out a groan as he suddenly realizes how long it's been - how long he's been here.]
[Wow, excuse! She could (and would!) have made blood glasses in her own world, too. The blue is just added chic. And does he even still have colour vision?]
Do they swarm? Or are they simply plentiful? What size?
[Look, one doesn't keep hair this good and colorful without being able to see said color himself, despite the fact that more indigo and violet strands — matching the scales and mane of his Shift — are joining the mulberry ones each day.]
No swarms, but there were plenty of them, yeah. The ones I saw weren't much bigger than you, when you change.
[So not enough for him to eat. Just a little snack.]
[Pom slows, opening his eyes just enough to see what she's conjured; they water immediately, and he's forced to close them.]
Shorter tail, longer beak. I'd draw you a picture if I could.
[He's well aware his art is not exactly display-worthy even at the best of times; what he doesn't know is that he shouldn't leave his journal open on his desk for anyone who might come through a mirror to see, so Northly might have gotten a peek at some scrawled illustrations of not only a pink cat in a green cape and a bird-faced beast with a lumbering body, but even her own Shift form.]
[Don't ever let Pom see your fridge, Northly. He'll die of shame.]
All right.
[He falls quiet after that, listening to the woods around them as he lets her guide him toward the water. He can tell when they're getting close by the change in the scents, those of moisture and damp, muddy earth overpowering that of the trees and grasses.]
[He's about to ask about the flying fish, but then she says she'll bring them to him, implying she's leaving, and he feels his hand grip hers tighter, tight enough to hurt.]
Then you must come with me. [She steps on his foot, a friendly bounce. His grip on her hurts, but her limbs are so skinny now her hand gets lost in his much larger one.] The fish are in the water.
Am I a river or spring? I will be insulted if you call me a puddle. [She's teasing him now, and tugs on his hand, hoping the chatter will help. Besides, the water will protect his eyes, if he's not too frightened to open them.]
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[That's not even a question.]
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I have a surplus and it is suitable.
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Just hold my hand and lead me.
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The ocean is not far.
[She takes his hands in hers and squeezes.]
Tell me about birds. What kinds are common spawns in this season?
[Distractions! As she wraps his arm around her waist and guides him towards the harbour.]
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Don't really know the birds of this world. [He tries to focus on the rest of his senses: the grass feels good beneath his feet, the claws on his toes — rarely seen, as he so often is wearing shoes — catching on the dirt.] Lot of blue ones last year, though.
[He lets out a groan as he suddenly realizes how long it's been - how long he's been here.]
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Do they swarm? Or are they simply plentiful? What size?
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No swarms, but there were plenty of them, yeah. The ones I saw weren't much bigger than you, when you change.
[So not enough for him to eat. Just a little snack.]
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Like this?
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Shorter tail, longer beak. I'd draw you a picture if I could.
[He's well aware his art is not exactly display-worthy even at the best of times; what he doesn't know is that he shouldn't leave his journal open on his desk for anyone who might come through a mirror to see, so Northly might have gotten a peek at some scrawled illustrations of not only a pink cat in a green cape and a bird-faced beast with a lumbering body, but even her own Shift form.]
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When we return. [She likes his drawings, has stolen a few she didn't think would be missed, put them on the fridge.]
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All right.
[He falls quiet after that, listening to the woods around them as he lets her guide him toward the water. He can tell when they're getting close by the change in the scents, those of moisture and damp, muddy earth overpowering that of the trees and grasses.]
I don't have to get in, do I?
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You may stay out here if you wish, but the fish in this world do not fly. [Like they do in normal worlds.] I will bring them to you.
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Don't leave me.
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I can't. My hair.
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[His hair.]
The dye comes out. Takes ages to get like this. I don't... really like the water.
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Not a river, or spring, or puddle. You're Northly, my...
[Oh, that word is still hard sometimes. He tries again.]
My friend. A person.
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I've been there. I know how it is.
[His tone is apologetic.]
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