Finally things were easing up enough that Rissie could get a move through the crowd, but as she did so, she was suddenly overcome by an uneasy feeling. No longer was she surrounded by tried-and-true kind strangers, once more was she in danger. She half expected to see that horrible smiling man from the milk bar coming for her from one of the clusters of people she was starting to squeeze past. Anyone could just reach out and grab her, and...
She missed the Zora until he was right up beside her, and as she spoke she spun about and startled away from him, bumping into one of those groups and quickly apologizing to the stout man who stopped her momentum dead in its tracks without really noticing that he had done so, since apparently anything one quarter of his mass wasn't annoying enough to bother considering. He continued his conversation uninterrupted, and she stared wide-eyed at the Zora for a few moments.
Something about horses. He was just making conversation? Was it part of a trap? He was smiling, and like all smiles, there was a predatory "I'm showing my teeth" feeling to it, but it didn't seem like he had ill intent. And it was obviously very rude of her to react like that to him if he were only trying to make pleasant conversation. She searched about for something to say in response, but she was drawing a blank. She hadn't even really heard what he said! How was she supposed to respond?
But, it was rude for her to keep him waiting while she tried to recall what he'd just said to her, so she settled for the polite way out of most such blunders. "I'm sorry," she muttered, bowing her head quickly.
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AND MOVING ALONG IT IS. POSTAGE HAS BEEN PAID AND THE MAILMAN HAS DELIVERED
"You. You are in the way." Zora jabbed at the colorful short boy's shins with her crutches until he got the memo and moved himself further into the room, allowing her to make her own way in, as well. Goodness was it crowded in there! So many people! Zora hesitated a moment, more than a little confused. What were all these people doing here? That person looked like probably Comaboy's mother, but then there was another hospital guest and someone with cookies and OH OBVIOUSLY THIS WAS A BIRTHDAY PARTY.
That made sense. Sad sense, since it was kind of depressing to think that Comaboy wouldn't be able to partake in his own birthday celebration, but still; were she in a coma and actually had people who cared about her enough to want to celebrate her birthday with her comatose body, she thought she'd like that. It was the thought that counted, after all.
Sadly, though, in this case, it kind of ruined her plans. As much as birthday parties were nice and she'd been getting along just fine with the patient the four times she'd been in to visit him previously (because really, you had to try to not get along with a pretty-much-dead person), she didn't really feel like she knew him or his friends well enough to partake in celebratory cookies with them. She'd just been planning to come in here and continue trying to influence his dreams with her sock puppets! But, well, as brazen as she was with her strange idiosyncrasies and as much as she liked to think that it didn't matter what people thought of her, she didn't really want to break out Herbert and Bjorn to continue their argument about whether herring should be birds or fish when there were other people around. That sort of strangeness was better left when you didn't have any audience.
And yes, that was a thing. While she just struck up pleasant conversations and pretended to sip tea with the awake patients, those who wouldn't wake up got to be serenaded with the inane conversations of Herbert and Bjorn. Herbert was a portly fellow, with long strands of yellow yarn to simulate hair and only one googly eye (the other had fallen off in her backpack at some point and, sadly, had found its way into that place where lost members of pairs always end up), and Bjorn was his ankle-length, long-snouted foil with the white button eyes and some needles stuck through his skull to give him a weird menacing afro, since that was apparently what people did in Scotland or Sweden or Scandinavia or wherever the heck the name Bjorn came from. For Crazy Comalady (crazy because she looked like she probably had like 72 cats, you know the sort of person) they went on and on about global warming; Bjorn taking the enlightened view that global warming was in fact a lie, and rising temperatures was just the density of Mercury decreasing as was its want, while Herbert insisted that global warming was a thing and that people should use their air conditioners more to fix it right up. For Not-so-crazy Comalady, Herbert insisted that aliens were responsible for crop circles and that clowns were actually aliens in disguise, and Bjorn avoided the real conversation completely by shriveling up in the corner and crying pitifully every time that the word "clown" came up. And for Comaboy, Herbert hypothesized that herring were fish that transformed into birds when you looked at them the right way, and Bjorn countered with the argument that birds and fish were human-made concepts, and that actually there was no such thing as a herring, since the entire world was actually the fabrications of your brain somewhere in a vat in outer space, being examined by aliens.
It was riveting stuff. But she wasn't so sure that anyone here would appreciate her ruining their party with her philosophizing, and so she just stood there awkwardly for a few moments, banging her cast against one of her crutches rhythmically.
That made sense. Sad sense, since it was kind of depressing to think that Comaboy wouldn't be able to partake in his own birthday celebration, but still; were she in a coma and actually had people who cared about her enough to want to celebrate her birthday with her comatose body, she thought she'd like that. It was the thought that counted, after all.
Sadly, though, in this case, it kind of ruined her plans. As much as birthday parties were nice and she'd been getting along just fine with the patient the four times she'd been in to visit him previously (because really, you had to try to not get along with a pretty-much-dead person), she didn't really feel like she knew him or his friends well enough to partake in celebratory cookies with them. She'd just been planning to come in here and continue trying to influence his dreams with her sock puppets! But, well, as brazen as she was with her strange idiosyncrasies and as much as she liked to think that it didn't matter what people thought of her, she didn't really want to break out Herbert and Bjorn to continue their argument about whether herring should be birds or fish when there were other people around. That sort of strangeness was better left when you didn't have any audience.
And yes, that was a thing. While she just struck up pleasant conversations and pretended to sip tea with the awake patients, those who wouldn't wake up got to be serenaded with the inane conversations of Herbert and Bjorn. Herbert was a portly fellow, with long strands of yellow yarn to simulate hair and only one googly eye (the other had fallen off in her backpack at some point and, sadly, had found its way into that place where lost members of pairs always end up), and Bjorn was his ankle-length, long-snouted foil with the white button eyes and some needles stuck through his skull to give him a weird menacing afro, since that was apparently what people did in Scotland or Sweden or Scandinavia or wherever the heck the name Bjorn came from. For Crazy Comalady (crazy because she looked like she probably had like 72 cats, you know the sort of person) they went on and on about global warming; Bjorn taking the enlightened view that global warming was in fact a lie, and rising temperatures was just the density of Mercury decreasing as was its want, while Herbert insisted that global warming was a thing and that people should use their air conditioners more to fix it right up. For Not-so-crazy Comalady, Herbert insisted that aliens were responsible for crop circles and that clowns were actually aliens in disguise, and Bjorn avoided the real conversation completely by shriveling up in the corner and crying pitifully every time that the word "clown" came up. And for Comaboy, Herbert hypothesized that herring were fish that transformed into birds when you looked at them the right way, and Bjorn countered with the argument that birds and fish were human-made concepts, and that actually there was no such thing as a herring, since the entire world was actually the fabrications of your brain somewhere in a vat in outer space, being examined by aliens.
It was riveting stuff. But she wasn't so sure that anyone here would appreciate her ruining their party with her philosophizing, and so she just stood there awkwardly for a few moments, banging her cast against one of her crutches rhythmically.
Yoyo Nevis, just one quick caveat: Zora is not yet to the room, but Sahara is. So no second adorably-tiny little lady in there yet, just another surprisingly-tall person to make DDraig feel short.
Working on a post now! :D
Working on a post now! :D
I wish to draw your attention to a PM that I sent you, HeySeuss. ^.^
I see that we appear to have lost our magic user!
I see that we appear to have lost our magic user!
Ohoho, that would be just perfect.
Which party shall Rissie crash? She's boring when she's all alone ^.^
YES.
WHO GOT THIS PERSON THEY NEED A HUG
WHO GOT THIS PERSON THEY NEED A HUG
SWEET MORE STUFF TO READ
Edit: So, uh, we have... a magic user? Is magic a thing?
Edit: So, uh, we have... a magic user? Is magic a thing?
Maybe Charon should catch the random Faeri that tumbles out of the sky! :O
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