(Untitled)

[silver_flecks]

"WhO mE

Comments

[futures_of_ash]

As long as it's not Rachel's chair that is currently engaged in the conversation...

Because then? She'd have to move, out of politeness sake.

[silver_flecks]

Could be, pig.

Could be.

You never know.

Besides, the chair probably doesn't like being sat on that much, anyway, now that's it's self-aware.

[futures_of_ash]

Probably not...and luckily, Rach could be sensitive at times...

This would be why she sighs and floats upward, offering an apologetic pat to said chair.

Alas, it was a comfy chair...

[silver_flecks]

The chair sulks, a little.

"YoU lEFt a MaRk, SpArKlY FlaMeY GiRlY ThInG."

She doesn't look up.

[pig_transcends]

A large pig perches transcendently upon a stool across from Del and the chair. "Dai'stiho, both of you," he says, waving a hoof.

[silver_flecks]

Del looks over. Not, in fact, in a transcendent manner.

More in a "no one's reminded her recently that heads are only supposed to turn so much" manner, but with a very bright smile.

"GuTeN taG!"

[pig_transcends]

"It's daytime somewhere. Quite a lot of somewheres, actually, or even an infinite number of somewheres for certain values of time. Guten tag, good day, buenos días..." The Pig adds several other daytime greetings in languages that can't be pronounced by human throats or spelled using the Latin alphabet.

[silver_flecks]

Del tilts her head.

A little, and her eyes glaze over as she listens, and she listens, and she giggles madly after a few moments.

And then she stops, and looks at her toes and there are pictures on the nails and some are laughing and some are crying and some are screaming.

And then she looks up and sees there's a pig and blinks. And smiles.

"DiD yOu CoMe FrOM thE mArKet Or StAy HoMe?"

[ten_feet_below]

. . . all right, so the voice is a little odd.

The Prince stumbles valiantly towards it, nonetheless. You never know who you'll encounter, in the . . .

not . . . woods. As is made abundantly clear when he trips over the chair.

[silver_flecks]

Yes.

It's a very strange voice.

Still, it's a stranger laugh, that she lets loose and flies aroudn the room and lands, chirping, by the Prince, when he falls.

[ten_feet_below]

The Prince bounds to his feet, his face contorting into an expression of noble (blind!) heroism.

"Who is it that laughs at my misfortunes?" he demands.

[silver_flecks]

"Me," she offers, helpfully.
But she means, "Shati."
Still giggling.

[talkback]

Chase has always had a soft spot for kids. And, to him, she looks like a kid. Poor Chase.

"Hey there kiddo, what's going on?"

[silver_flecks]

It's a very, very, very long look he's given.

"NoT a KidDo."

[talkback]

He holds up his hands.

"No offense meant."

[firewitandhate]

Right next to the chair, there is another chair. Just a moment ago, to all appearances, it was a falcon.

Of course, this chair seems to be eavesdropping on the conversation in progress.

[silver_flecks]

"SpYiNg," she says, to the chair she was speaking to initially, "iS rUdE."

[firewitandhate]

The new chair feigns innocense, but not too heavily.

[silver_flecks]

"VeRy rUdE."

The original chair nods its agreement.