What's this? What's this? There's weird shit everywhere | Day Four, Morning [OPEN]

[justbeclaws]

No one not intimately familiar with the library would notice, but there have been some rearrangements of furniture in one particular out-of-the-way corner. Said corner, and the burnished oak desk inside it, are screened from the stacks even more than they already were, inaccessible to anyone unwilling to climb over some extremely uncomfortable-looking chairs.

Or crawl under them, of course.

Her den arranged to her immediate satisfaction, the typewriter makes her way forth in search of something less immediately satisfying: the lay of the land. She wants to know where things are, including people (and people who are also things). And who knows, perhaps there will be information hidden somewhere about the house and its Keeper, secrets not even Mason knows.

It seems right to her that a moderately stealthy expedition (there's no reason to be stealthy, particularly, but she doesn't really trust anything around her) should take place in the morning. Whether or not she's right about this remains to be seen.

Comments

better late than never (nefur?)

[armedanddangerous]

Fifteen feet above her head, Squawky Man can't hear the typewriter or her dinging because he's too busy eating the food that's been so conveniently provided for them. And by "eating" I mean "tearing it to pieces and throwing the greater portion on the ground", because in no universe are birds neat eaters, especially changeling birds who were never human in the first place. From her vantage point, the typewriter should be able to see scraps of bread and vegetables falling haphazardly from the ceiling in what's effectively an edible interior rainstorm.

if aaaaaaall the raindrops were lemon drops and gumdrops~

[justbeclaws]

"Even morre rridiculous!" she says, this time with some glee. She hurries to take up a position underneath a chair close to the center of the foodshower, from which shelter she darts out to catch anything that doesn't look too particularly chewed on.

"Hey!" she shouts, after a few rounds of this. "Arre you going to add some meat to the menu some time soon? It's good furr yourr muscles!" Also she kind of hates most of these vegetables.

[armedanddangerous]

The foodstorm halts, and a minute later a red crested head peeks over the edge of the table. It's not really possible for birds to scowl, but if they could, he would be. He fluffs his feathers, clacks his beak, then says sourly, "Depends. What's in it for me?"

[justbeclaws]

Oh, hey, it's a bird! He is probably not a food item, but you never know. "Muscles?" she hazards. "Also I would be grrateful, I guess."

[armedanddangerous]

From beside him he takes a slab of roast... something in his claws, extends it over the edge of the table, then pauses as if reconsidering. He tilts his head to one side, sizing up the girl-cat-typewriter-thing. He's not particularly impressed.

"On second thought, I think not," he replies, withdrawing his foot.

[justbeclaws]

Did he just - he did. Oh, it is so on.

If the parrot assumes she can't get up to the tabletop to get to him, he's making a grave error. It's not going to be as easy as it is for him, but it's not impossible by a long way. Especially when she's motivated.

It's not particularly stealthy, though. Climbing up chair legs and using hanging tablecloths as rope generally isn't.