thecapitol | most of my sweet memories were buried in the sand

Entry tags:

most of my sweet memories were buried in the sand

Who| cole + OPEN
What| making friends with stray cats + figuring out how food tastes
Where| a random alleyway in the capitol, the tribute center restaurant
When| after the latest arena
Warnings/Notes| none yet

CAPITOL ALLEYWAY.

Everyone can see him. It doesn't matter what he does, because he can feel the weight of their eyes on him. Everyone can see him, and he can't slip away like he used to. Once, the weight of their eyes would have made him panic. But he's a little more used to being seen by now. Varric has been helping him. Instead, he tugs his hat back down over his eyes to obscure his face and makes his way around a city that seems too clean after being in Thedas for so long.

The people here are untouchable. Their thoughts are shrouded from him. He's left with the noise his own mind makes inside of his head, which is different and a little strange. He probably makes a strange sight, crouched at the end of a small alleyway with a loaf of bread in his hands. Murmuring quietly to the stray cats congregated there.

I'm not going to hurt you. You must be hungry.

It's harder to help, without those thoughts at his fingertips. But this is one small way that he can. The cats of Skyhold used to bat their paws at him even when they couldn't see him. These ones approach tentatively, spurred on by his gentle coaxing an the bread in his hands.

He can help the hungry cats. He can help.

TRIBUTE CENTER

He's never had to eat before. Back in the Spire, before he knew what he was, Cole vaguely remembers the feeling of hunger that had appeared only because he'd thought it's what he might feel. He thought he was human, back then. Or -- something else. Something more real, and more substantial than he felt, slipping through the cracks and into the darkness. But he had never actually eaten anything, even back then. He wasn't even really sure that he could.

Now the feeling is back, that odd gnawing sensation. But he doesn't really know what to eat, so he goes to the restaurant at the bottom of the tribute center and orders something at random off the menu. Or, it's more like he closes his eyes and picks at random.

The avoxes make his heart ache. They can't speak, and he can't hear them the way he would have been able to, once. They scurry away from him like scared mice as soon as he tries to speak to them. Leaving him with assorted oddities. Pickles, peanut butter. An apple and fish. Cole bites into a pickle and immediately shudders at the taste.

No, no pickles. No, they're not for him.

Unless he dipped them in peanut butter?

Someone please stop him.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's funny how a few years with limited socialization puts you in fight or flight mode as far as social interaction goes. Sometimes Dave looks at a stranger and thinks they look like they could use a friend, sometimes he gets as far as a few inches away from them before he sidles off elsewhere. Sometimes, like today, he lingers long enough to force himself to be friendly. Maybe it's because Cole looks kind of hopeless, maybe it's because Dave is incapable of walking away from peanut butter. Either way, he's watched him long enough that walking away would be just weird. Weirder than staring at him. Probably.

Dave takes a step closer, inviting himself to touch the stranger's food by pushing the apple and the jar of peanut butter together. He looks down at him through his shades, nodding meaningfully. "Do it." He urges. "You won't regret it."

Edited 2014-12-31 09:14 (UTC)

He is kind of hopeless. Honestly, the looks his stylists had given him when he'd walked through the door spoke of just how hopeless he was. He had spent far too long looking at the television sets and the elevators, and it's actually a miracle that he made it down to this floor at all considering how he'd pushed buttons at random.

Basically: Cole could use someone to show him how to be a person. So when Dave pushes together the apple and the peanut butter, he takes a moment to stare at the choices. He asks one of the avoxes if he could have a knife to cut the apple, but they return with a plate of sliced ones so fast that it might as well have been magic.

One dip into the jar later, and Cole doesn't regret it.

"Thank you," he tells him, his face lighting up at the taste. Actually tasting something, needing to eat. Like a real person might. "They're both sweet. I understand. You should eat things that taste similar, shouldn't you?"

When the Avox seems to heed Cole's request and disappears, Dave takes it as a chance to invite himself to sit across from him. In a normal place, this would be weird. You don't just rock up to some guy at the mall and touch his food and sit with him, but maybe you could get away with it at the school cafeteria. Everything here feels a lot more like an aggressive, violent, celebrity school, sometimes you can just wander up to someone and have enough in common to fuel a conversation.

Most of the time, everyone here looks like they could use someone to talk to.

When the Avox returns, he resists the urge to invite himself to eat this guy's food as well. He watches him try the combo, assuming he's from a past where peanut butter wasn't a thing. "Most of the time, sure. But then you get stuff that doesn't, like Sweet and Sour pork, and it blows your mind." He even does the jazz hands to illustrate his point. "Why're you asking that, anyway? Are you a survivor of a tragic taste bud accident from an early age or something?"

It's a good thing that Cole doesn't really understand concepts like space in the same way that other people might. And he's done his fair share of intruding, what with the fact that he used to dip into other people's heads and pull out all of their most painful thoughts and memories. Dave reaching out and touching his food isn't something that bothers him. It's not even something that he registers as being forward. Instead, he perceives it as someone helping him.

Which is...a little strange. Someone helping him, when he's supposed to be the one helping everyone else.

"No, I've...never had to eat before," he admits, without pausing to consider how strange that sounds. "It's very strange."

Like almost putting pickles into peanut butter wasn't strange.

Since Cole doesn't seem particularly perturbed, Dave doesn't let himself worry too much about it. Maybe it says more about Cole than it does him, but there are more important things to worry about. Like Murder Games and the fact that he's never had to eat before.

"No kidding." He retorts, helping himself to an apple slice and barely waiting to chew it down before he continues. "I'll clue you in on something, though. You're talking to a kid who ascended to immortality with his mad time travel powers, so I'm probably going to believe whatever crazy-ass answer you've got for me, Shiloh."

A lot of people tell him that the way he talks is confusing, but the truth is that Cole doesn't really understand half of what Dave is saying right now. And he probably makes it obvious, too, with the way he tilts his head a little at him.

"My name isn't Shiloh, it's Cole," he takes another bite of apple and decides that he likes apples very much. "Are you really immortal? You don't seem like a spirit."

Similarly, Dave is used to being renowned for being confusing. He babbles, he uses metaphors and he peppers in references that most people wouldn't get. This is primarily because he's an uncompromising hipster and also because he's awkward.

"I know- Well. I dunno your name. I do now, but it's a joke. Shiloh is a dog and. Never mind." He waves off that tangent and moves on to the next thing. "I'm not a spirit, I'm a Knight. It's very strange." He parrots Cole's words, just to drive that point home. "So I'll probably believe whatever reason you had for your eternal hunger strike."

People have tried to explain jokes to him. Varric made a valiant attempt in teaching him something called knock-knock jokes, but he never seemed to get the hang of it. Apparently, you're not just supposed to state facts in a deadpan voice. Apparently, that's not how you tell a joke.

"Knock knock."
"Who's there?"
"Cole."
"Cole who?"
"That's my name. Cole."

It's a work in progress.

"But Knights aren't immortal. Some of them tried, they defied nature. They were all twisted and wrong and red inside. But they fell like anyone else."

He slides some of the food over to Dave. Sharing is part of compassion.

"I...used to be a spirit, I think. I don't know what I am now."

Fortunately, Dave is used to people not really getting what he's trying to say. He over references popculture and has no intention of stopping, so it's no wonder people who aren't from America in 2009 specifically don't really understand him.

Of course, he's becoming increasingly aware of the fact that Cole is very...literal. As evidenced by that response. Dave can't help crinkling his nose, because he doesn't much like to think about what colour his insides are.

"I'm not your average Knight. Things are different in my world." He nods appreciatively when he's offered food, taking another slice of apple and scooping more peanut butter onto it. "You're a normie. A human, I guess. When you say spirit do you mean like Jesus- Uh. A prophetic, spiritual savior or like boo, a ghost? Like Casper. You don't know Casper." But he's a lot like Casper.

Dorian barely thinks twice about the Avoxes. He doesn't even notice that they can't speak. They seem to be the Capitol's versions of slaves, which only settles in his mind the similarities between here and home. There's nothing he can do about that, and there are much more disturbing things to deal with.

Like Cole trying to eat whatever random food is being set in front of him.

"I was wondering if you'd feel hungry," He says personably as he slid down onto the bench across from him. As if the conversation a couple days ago never happened. "Though I..." He trailed off as he picked up a pickle and sniffed it, made a face, and put it down. "I think we may have to do something about your choice of eating habits."

"Yes. Sometimes, I forget. And then my stomach makes noise," it's almost amusing how loud it can get sometimes, the odd rumbling that he thought he'd left behind in the Spire. That he hadn't felt again after the Lord Seeker had proven that he wasn't real after all.

"What would you eat, Dorian?"

"Here? I find all their food a little peculiar, if I'm honest, but they seem to have meals prepared as wholes already - perhaps you'd be best ordering those, for now, and seeing what you prefer."

He glanced around the room and sighed. "If only we could cook for ourselves. Then I could at least introduce you to a few dishes from home. Provided they have any of the correct supplies, of course."

"I think I'd like your cooking," he replies, flipping half-heartedly through a menu. Squinting at the selections, mouthing words that he's never really heard before in his life. "Dorian, what's vodka? And there's something here that's called a...sex on the beach...I don't think that's right."

He's got the drink menu instead of the regular menu. And everything has weird names.

Dorian had to laugh - he had to. He had no idea what vodka was - had never heard of it, in Thedas - but sex on a beach... He reached over to take the menu from him.

"Ah. Alcohol. And here I was wondering if you got the escort menu. It must be a drink of some kind, though I must tell you that sex on a beach in incredibly overrated and I don't suggest trying it."

Or, you know, sex at all for that matter. At least not for... twenty years. Give or take.

"Well, perhaps I will see if I can cook for you sometime, then," He said, smiling warmly as he looked through the actual food side of the menu. "Do you have any idea what kind of food you would like to try? Something that you saw one of us eat, perhaps, that you were curious about?"

Cole used to watch people in Skyhold with some fascination, but he was always preoccupied with their thoughts and feelings, and paid very little attention to the day-to-day details like what they happened to eat. "I think...I'd eat anything you wanted me to. I trust you."

Dorian is his friend, after all. Or at least, Cole would like to think that they are friends.

"Sex on a beach is an odd thing to call something you drink. There are very many odd things here."

Like the clothes they've put him in, which he tugs at uncomfortably with a frown.

Azula watches from a distance and has some mild horror at watching him and his intentions of dipping the pickles in peanut butter.

Somehow despite the strange food behavior she's witnessed being Mentor for District Five, it never ceases to amaze her what people will put in their mouths.

Finally as she decides she can standy no more she moves to the table and takes a seat at it watching him with sharp focused eyes.

She is pale and beautiful by her own standards, manicured and brushed to perfection. Her clothes are warm and comfortable in dark crimson but with trails of gold along the cuffs and collar to add some flair. The stylist informed her it was a balance between business and beauty. All that mattered to her was she was positive she struck a powerful figure in it when entering a room.

"Enjoying yourself?"

He realizes it was a mistake almost as soon as he bites into it. The peanut butter does not do anything to help the taste of the pickles. In fact, the sweetness of it makes the pickle even worse. It makes him want to gag for the first time, but he finishes the mouthful he's got before pushing it away, mumbling apologies to the avoxes.

Cole looks up as she approaches. She can see him, she's talking to him without him talking to her first. It's a feeling that he's still not exactly used to.

"No, I don't think so," he mumbles, looking mournfully back at the pile of random food in front of him. "I'm not sure I like eating very much."

Well that is a curious way to put it. She helps herself to a chair sitting at the table with him and glancing over his selection of items.

"I've heard of people who feel that way but I've never actually encountered one. What do you find disagreeable about it?" She presses gesturing to a server to come and take her order. A glass of wine should taste just about right this time of day.

Then again after over a year of living in the Capitol, Azula was hard pressed to find a time of day she couldn't have a glass of wine.

In the days since the arena, Jane has been dealing the only way she knows how: by giving everyone a wide berth. Knowing that there are people she needs to check in with, Clementine above all, doesn't stop this latest freezeout. There's too much to process, too much she knows that some of them don't, too much obligation she never asked for.

It's easier to wander. She's died twice now, it's gonna take some time for Jane to have it in her not to take the easy way out.

At least the Capitol doesn't leave her wanting for distractions. Even the people who live here are distractions-- she's lost count of the number of times she's straight up gawked at someone's hair or clothes. Just watching them go about their day is weird, and there's just so many of them. She can't remember the last time she saw so many living people.

That's when she spots him, well away from the sea of sore thumbs. The alley draws her attention as well, a small break in the immaculate storefronts. She comes to a stop on the sidewalk, trying to get a better look at what he's doing.

It's the cats that ultimately draw her over. She can't help her curiosity, not when it's been years since she's seen one too. She hesitates a bit when it comes to taking the few steps keeping her out of Cole's line of vision, sticking to the alley's nearest wall once she does.

Jane would have been happy to spectate a bit before moving on, but the words just spill out of her mouth when she spots what he's holding.

"... You're feeding them bread?"

The cats are afraid, at first. Cole understands. People aren't kind to them, after all. They view them as vermin, cluttering up their beautiful city streets. These cats have survived so much, to be in a place like this. A place where they do not belong, but are trapped anyway. He knows that feeling so acutely.

The cats are afraid, but after a couple moments of gentle coaxing, a few come forward. They rub against him, eating the food from his hands with soft mewls.

He's so caught up in the rush of joy he felt that he doesn't notice her walking up behind him. That's jarring - back in Thedas, he would have heard her coming. He would have heard her thoughts, her intentions. Here, in the Capitol, he feels almost blind.

"But they were hungry..." and it's probably the best approximation of how Cole screws up when he tries to help. Always well-meaning, but good intentions don't mean much.

Jane's reaction is one of total perplexity. She really isn't sure what she was expecting Cole to say, but it wasn't that. Her face scrunches up slightly, lips screwed to one side as she thinks, then loses herself in a silence she's convinced is awkward.

"Bread might do them more harm than good." She eventually offers quietly, not unkindly. Unkindness has its place, back in the arena.

It's hard to say what she would have done if she had come across him in her world. Ignore him, she thinks. Put up a very convincing act of wondering why he was wasting so much food, act like she couldn't understand his reasons. One of the bolder cats slinks her way, arches against her as it rubs its cheek on her shin. She stiffens at its touch, brow furrowing with a frown as she fixes her gaze on the stray. From this angle, it's hard to miss how slender it is, how its coat patches in places from various scuffles. It's a rough life fending for yourself, no one has to tell her that.

Carefully, she tries to nudge it back towards Cole. It occurs to her that she can do more than disapprove, and the strange thing is she wants to. It's been so long since that was even an option for her that there's really no resisting the choice.

"... I'll be right back." There's a shop back the way she'd come that she has in mind, some crazy pet store, and that's where she heads.

It doesn't take her very long, because she's gone with something in mind. If he keeps an eye out, he'll spot her hefting a pretty big bag of cat food back his way.

Edited (i'm tagging this with a vengeance from now on i'm so sorry about the wait orz) 2015-01-20 02:07 (UTC)

He sees the rough patches on the cat's fur, and it makes him want to reach out and soothe those spots, if he thought the cats would let him. They're so small and soft and defenseless and it makes him want to reach out and protect all of them. Small things shouldn't have to fend for themselves. Small things should be looked after and cherished.

Cole watches as she wanders away, and stands as soon as he sees her coming back with a large bag in her hand. He hurries over to help her with it, like the good spirit he is. It's heavy, but he's stronger than his scrawny frame would probably belie.

"You've brought them something. Is it a gift?"

The bag is shiny, like a gift. It has a picture of a cat on it.

"It's cat food. So I guess?" Empty of their burden, Jane's arms hang lamely in the air for a moment before crossing together. Her mouth twists downwards sourly, but not because of Cole's question. This is perfectly harmless, she knows, but that doesn't change the face that it's putting her completely out of her element. She's unsure of what to do next, what else to say.

Luckily, the cats realize in a second that it's dinner time. The skinny little things crowd around, meowing and purring in an insatiable chorus. Her expression softens a little then, stiff shoulders thawing, and she edges into the alley beside Cole, unable to stop a quiet huff of laughter.

"See? This is the stuff they like." She turns to glance up at Cole, then at the bag, fingers rummaging down her side for a knife she doesn't have anymore. Oh, right.

"I think you can pull it open from the top. Want me to get it?"

All Julian wants to do is be a cat. He doesn’t think it’s an unreasonable request, but the Capitol, the people of this horrible place, can’t even give him that. With his powers taken away, Julian’s forced to be a human constantly. And forced to deal with all things unpleasant, like the memories of the Arena, as a human. Turning into a cat used to help Julian deal with things like that, help push them away, and while he can still do it as a human it’s harder. Especially given the weight of the types of things that happened in that Arena.

It’s why he finds himself wandering the streets of the Capitol, trying to find any signs of cats. If he can’t turn into a cat, at least he can get some sort of familiarity out of hanging out with them. A part of him has the ridiculous hope that if he spends enough time with them, maybe it will magically bring his powers back. But just as he finally manages to spot some cats, he sees that there’s already another person there with them.

It’s not as if Julian can’t find some other cats elsewhere, but he still feels as if something is being taken away from him. Annoyed, he lets out a loud huff from where he stands a few feet away, but when he notices the bread the annoyance fades. Even Julian finds it hard to stay mad at someone who is feeding stray cats. He closes the rest of the distance until he’s nearby Cole, and folds his arms across his chest, looking as if he’s inspecting something.

“Cats aren’t ducks or geese, you know. You should feed them meat.” The words come out slightly snippy. The cats do look happy with what they’re being offered though, and Julian’s just jealous, even though he doesn’t want to admit it.

The cats are very soft, but they are also very thin. Cole realizes this as he reaches out to pet them. They rub against him with quiet mewls, but he can feel the indentations of their ribs and the way their skin hangs off of them like an oversized coat and it breaks his heart. He wants to help, but he isn't always sure how. Now that he feels more human than ever, this is quickly becoming apparent.

It hadn't really occurred to him that he shouldn't feed them bread. Honestly, he's only just beginning to understand what he needs to eat, let alone cats. He looks up for a moment and considers it, seeming to almost wilt at the realization.

"Is that what cats eat? You're right. It sticks in their stomachs, it makes them feel full and happy and warm. I should get some."

Julian’s a bit taken aback by the response he gets. Most people here, clearly not used to behaving in a civilized way, have responded to him in varying degrees of hostility and offensiveness. However much Julian thinks those types of responses are undeserved, a part of him is expecting the same from this guy. But no, the words on their own are refreshing; Julian does like being told he’s right. It’s the way Cole looks so sad that makes Julian shift uncomfortably, feeling a bit like he kicked a puppy. He tells himself it’s not his problem if the guy’s getting so worked up over this.

“Yes, you should. Fortunately, it’s not as if they’ll die from the bread. It’s a good thing your idea wasn’t to give them chocolate instead.” Most of the harshness is gone from Julian’s voice, and his tone is more matter of fact than anything else.

He crouches down to pet one of the cats, reaching to scratch its cheek behind its whiskers, but it shies away from him. Julian jerks his hand back, quickly folding his hands together as if nothing happened, but there’s still a brief look of hurt on his face before it molds into something carefully neutral. Cats hadn’t all been his best friends back home, but they had usually been a bit more curious about him, a bit more willing to like him. These cats don’t care about him at all. They haven't hissed at him, though, so they still make for more preferable company than many of the people he's met here.

“I’m being nice this time, but don’t think you'll be able to spend time with the cats whenever you want. If I’m here first it means they’re off limits.”

No chocolate. Okay. He'll remember that, he'll file it away in his mind for later. Because it's something that human beings do - they remember, and they try to learn even when it hurts. He's beginning to experience this for himself these days, and Cole mumbles the words to himself silently. No bread, no chocolate.

"...Are they your cats?" he asks, because he doesn't understand why else he wouldn't be allowed to see them. "I don't think cats should belong to anyone. They should be free."

“No, they’re not mine. You think I would just let my cats starve?” They all look hungry, but he points to one that looks especially thin for emphasis. “I don’t really care if cats are free or not, but if they look like this maybe they should belong to someone. At least that way they’d get food.”

“But I still get priority, even if they’re not mine,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, because back home he is used to his needs, however small, being the most important. “And I want to be able to see the cats uninterrupted."

Gary has had a touch-and-go relationship with domesticated animals. His aunt and uncle wouldn't get him one because the landlord didn't allow anything large and clawed, which excluded most things except for goldfish and small rodents, all of which he attempted. After a most unfortunate mishap with his second-grade class's pet gerbil, those privileges were taken as well. Perhaps he could have entertained himself with the feral cats in Barberton, or the dogs in the park at Leroi Lake, but even they seemed to recognize that Gary Epps was bad news. Or maybe it was something to do with the approach.

'The approach' is the one he's taking now: on seeing the herd of gathering strays around a small figure kneeling in the middle of a lonely alley, Gary tries to sneak up as close as possible, then run into the center of the group with loud whoops of laughter. Helping! He's helping!

The cats scatter as soon as he leaps into the alley, yowling in fright. Leaving Cole there alone in the middle of it all, most of the bread uneaten. They're gone and they might not be back for a while, and they might go hungry in the meanwhile. Cole rises to his feet, and he's angry.

He's angry more often these days, ever since he felt himself becoming more human. Shedding the trappings of being a detached spirit. He wants to hit people more often. Varric was helping him with that, guiding him gently through the process of being human and hurting like one.

"Why did you do that?" he demands, as the last of the cats run for their lives. "They'll go hungry now. I was helping them!"

Gary jogs to a stop, wearing a wide, open-mouthed grin on his face that quite clearly says he has no idea why this guy is so angry. Like an excitable puppy that's just brought a chewed-up slipper to its owner.

"I dunno," he pants with an exaggerated shrug. "It was fun, though! More fun than tossing a bunch of bread at them. What kind of cat eats bread, anyways? Don't they eat, like, mice and stuff?"

This...this is not the point. It's gone completely over Gary's head. But what else is new?

It's a sensitive subject, sort of. Cole has a soft spot for stray animals, those that have been abandoned and kicked to the side. The fact that they tolerate him more here than in Skyhold is just a bonus. He must smell different or something, more like a real boy. His presence doesn't scare them, and he cherishes that and holds it closely to his chest.

"You scared them," he says, crossing his arms against his chest. "You scared them and you didn't have to do that. And now they might not ever come back."

He's trying to rein in his anger. Taking deep breaths is helping, just like Varric taught him.

Cole is going to have many chances to practice patience with Gary, who not only continues to miss the point, but seems to act in continued and flagrant disregard for it. He waves his hand and lets out a dismissive puff of air.

"Nah," Gary insists. "They'll come back! They're just cats. Cats are dumb. They'll forget about the whole thing in like five minutes." Cats, goldfish--they work about the same, don't they? "Come on, look on the bright side! I saved you from wasting all that bread."

He thinks about that for a moment.

"...You gonna eat that?"

He's nearly been here a sweep. Nearly two years. In a way what all might be strange to anyone what wasn't his kind, the Games made him steady. They gave him ground to stand on. All the murder, the pain, for all he didn't engage it so much no more, it was familiar, and familiar was something what he could understand.

But then was that different, rarer kind of familiar what hurt and confused. He's stopped just at the entrance to the alley-- he's always got a sharp eye for what's around-- staring at this new Tribute, for surely, there's no chance he'd be a Capitolite. Not doing this.

It's the sort of delicate kindness what he's spent sweeps being told doesn't exist, and where it does, it ought to and most surely will be crushed. Puerile is it to be, and it stokes that unfortunate fondness what does him so ill so very motherfucking often.

Taking care to step as quietly as possible, so as not to scare the cats off, he approaches. When he thinks he's close enough the Tribute might hear, but not enough so to scare off the cats, rather than speak and align himself as what the cats might perceive human, thus worth running from, right up in his chitinous windpipe, he lets fall a series of soft insectile clicks.

A few of the cats climb into his lap and Cole feels his heart swelling at the realization that they are happy with him. The cats at Skyhold used to bat at him because he didn't smell right, didn't smell like a human should. Like they could see that he was different. The cats in the Capitol have no such qualms, possibly because he isn't different after all. Not here. They climb into his lap and he gasps with all the delight of a child discovering something for the first time. Affection, softness, warmth.

But there's someone else. The cats hear him before Cole does, because his senses aren't what they were like when he was a spirit. He makes clicking noises like an insect might, like the crickets do as night begins to fall. Trying not to scare them, he thinks. It's harder to know for sure when he can't reach into his motivations like he used to.

Cole doesn't disturb the quiet, either. He makes a soft humming noise, soothing the cats as they begin to sniff at the newcomer.

The meowbeasts sniff at him and he crouches down low, making himself small as he can. Not the tower he up and is.

Whoever this tribute is, he seems to be enjoying himself. No one hardly had 'pets' on Alternia. Everyone had their lusus natrae guardian or nothing at all. It's both strange and familiar, seeing people get their interact on with beasts. He's seen more pets since coming here, even has a few tribbles his ownself. But there still remains a curious novelty to it.

He calls once more for Cole's attention, with a faint clicking trill. Then, he mouths some words real slow. You sure that's right? He points at the bread what all Cole feeds the meowbeasts with.

He calls for Cole's attention and gets it -- the strange noise is enough to draw his curiosity. The cats seem to be enjoying the bread he gives them, considering the way they nibble at it straight from his hand. He hadn't really thought about what might be good for them to eat, because he's only recently learned how to eat at all. Bread was something he'd seen people eat at Skyhold, so it's what he had picked.

Cole stares at him for a moment, mouthing the words so he can figure out what is being said to him.

I thought it was... is what he mouths back, looking worried. Is it wrong?

He shrugs sort of helplessly, as all to say, it might be? That cats certainly weren't complaining. At this rate, the bread was almost sure to be no more.

Still he opens his own maw and taps at one of the obscenely long and sharp canines there, the ones what as hang over his bottom lip. He's got rows and rows more of sharpness behind them. He then points at the cats with their own tiny little canines. With his hand, he does a chomping motion, all mouthing out a single word slow.

car-ni-vore

Cole looks hopelessly lost, and that much is apparent from the moment Nill looks at him. She tries not to make it obvious, but the more lost he looks, the more she feels like she should check on him, until finally she decides to make her way over when it seems like he's considering sticking his pickles in the peanut butter.

She offers him a very small, gentle smile, before holding up the notepad. As usual her handwriting is decently sized and done with the intent of being relatively easy to read.

what do you like where you're from?

Maybe he just wasn't used to the stuff here. She might be able to help him find something he did like.

If Cole were still a spirit, he might be able to understand. He would reach into her mind and pick apart the pain, would realize why she didn't speak. But he isn't, and he can't do that any more. Which doesn't mean that he isn't curious, but he's also learning these days - and what is and is not appropriate to ask or bring up to people in public is one of the lessons he's beginning to learn.

So he gives her a tentative look and ducks his head to read the note she gives him. He isn't used to reading, and his handwriting is more of a messy scrawl and barely legible.

"I...don't know," he says, thoughtfully. "I've never had to eat before. I thought I did, but it wasn't real."

I wasn't real.

He's learned better than most people do. At least half the people she's met in her life usually ask about her ability to speak, to the point where she only minds when they actually think to ask the why instead of just the what.

She's not sure if his thoughtfulness is out of worry about his answer or if it's because reading is hard for him. It wouldn't be the first time. She makes a note to try to keep the sentences simple to be on the safe side. If he didn't need to eat before he might not have needed to read either.

can I join you?
I might be able to help.

People offering to help him is always such a strange thing. It's not that he doesn't want their assistance, it's just...he's supposed to be the one helping others. But Cassandra has taught him that it's okay to accept this from others. That he doesn't have to do it all by himself.

That it's...part of having a friend. Well, that's something he's learned for himself.

He gives her an uncertain smile, though it's probably mostly hidden by the low-hanging brim of his hat and his long hair. "Yes. Yes, I would like that. Help. You want to help me. Thank you."

Something about the way he talks reminds her a little bit of Bucky - not because they look similar, or even sound similar, but there's something a little familiar in the wording. A little as if he's not totally sure what way is the right one to interact with people.

The smile she settles on him is small and warm, and Nill moves to take a seat across from him. Instead of going to write anything else though she looks over the odd assortment of things the avoxes have left him before grabbing one of the apples and a knife from the side. She cuts off a slice, and then uses the knife to add some peanut butter before she holds it out for him. She's not sure if he'll like it, but it's definitely a better idea than pickles and peanut butter.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

most of my sweet memories were buried in the sand

foodery

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Tribute Center

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amassing a kitty cat army for the new year

so cute......so powerful...........

i for one welcome our new feline overlords

hell yeah

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cats!

<3

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cats pls (also I am so sorry)

gary why!!!!!

s-sob

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Alleycats

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food!

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