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[ Pitou's eyes narrow down to slits. That sure had looked good, but the problem for them is a deep base in the world of things which can be explained. Physics, anatomy, medicine, science. Their life was split half and half between pure selfishly defined aesthetic pleasures and the solid facts of science. Even the time spent volunteering was a mixture of simple appreciation for fuzzy creatures as well as in depth understanding of their reproductive systems, their animal needs and habits as dictated by scientific study.
There's nothing Pitou looks at without a burning need to break it into those pieces.
They reach out to pick up one of the books, turning them over slowly. Too big to be hidden up a sleeve, too solid to have changed shape, but the idea that they came out of nothing was, patently, preposterous. They lift their eyes without lifting their head, a terrible kind of intrigue on their face. Magic is a stupid word, but they want to know what is going on all the same. ]
Slower.
little bag of bones been out all night - Post a comment