Ghost reacts little. They don't need to. If Quirrel intended harm, they could remove his arm in an instant.
Not that they need to consider that, either. It's fine.
More than fine, they decide as Pepper flicks their wings against his hand, startling at the little noise it makes. Grubs need physical affection. Ghost gives that affection. Hazewing and his give that affection. Hornet and hers do as well, but they aren't around them much.
That should change. A visit, soon.
--Or an invitation. Their little Voidmoths disappear into darkness too easily. Hazewing would have a conniption if that happened in the Beast's Den.
...As would Ghost, admittedly.
Powder barely glances behind their back before flipping over Quirrel's fingers, hanging on upside-down.
"Three seasons," Ghost answers after further not-mouth-covering.
(This despite the rumors starting nearly ten seasons ago, and few eggs taking more than two.)
The others draw forward and start doing the same hand exploration. Tap-tap, pat-pat.
Their Za leans forward to cover them again? No, they're just plucking Quirrel's paper from where it's awkwardly held.
A little ways back from the rest, Cinna is staring at kerchief, gears turning in their little head. Not horns. Not jewelry. Not helmet. Almost helmet? Nobody in the White Palace has something quite like it.
They slowly stick out a little hand, as though they can reach it from a distant, little claws grasping. No, can't touch it from over here. They get a little closer.
"...Soft? Soft helmet cloth?" they ask tentatively.
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syntheid
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Date: 2023-05-08 10:14 am (UTC)Not that they need to consider that, either. It's fine.
More than fine, they decide as Pepper flicks their wings against his hand, startling at the little noise it makes. Grubs need physical affection. Ghost gives that affection. Hazewing and his give that affection. Hornet and hers do as well, but they aren't around them much.
That should change. A visit, soon.
--Or an invitation. Their little Voidmoths disappear into darkness too easily. Hazewing would have a conniption if that happened in the Beast's Den.
...As would Ghost, admittedly.
Powder barely glances behind their back before flipping over Quirrel's fingers, hanging on upside-down.
"Three seasons," Ghost answers after further not-mouth-covering.
(This despite the rumors starting nearly ten seasons ago, and few eggs taking more than two.)
The others draw forward and start doing the same hand exploration. Tap-tap, pat-pat.
Their Za leans forward to cover them again? No, they're just plucking Quirrel's paper from where it's awkwardly held.
A little ways back from the rest, Cinna is staring at kerchief, gears turning in their little head. Not horns. Not jewelry. Not helmet. Almost helmet? Nobody in the White Palace has something quite like it.
They slowly stick out a little hand, as though they can reach it from a distant, little claws grasping. No, can't touch it from over here. They get a little closer.
"...Soft? Soft helmet cloth?" they ask tentatively.