12-28-2009, 06:11 PM
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-bites the holidays.- ;; i never sleep at my parent's house.
-bites the holidays.- ;; i never sleep at my parent's house.
@&#&$For the scientist, an answer could raise half a dozen new questions in place of the one that had been addressed. That the exclamations centred around foul language was downright intriguing; he wondered what would happen if an afflicted person was raised in such a manner that they were never exposed to cursing at all. The concept of "involuntary" did not particularly sit well with him either. Were the symptoms exacerbated in the presence of others, or did they happen in solitude as well? Wouldn't this make hunting (or any other action that required stealth) impossible, or at least unpleasant? What would happen if Cotl simply clamped his jaw shut and refused to speak--would he be forced to gurgle out some kind of nonsense through clenched jaws?
@&#&$The curiosity was overwhelming, but the strained sigh made him think twice. It didn't take much to guess that the Infernian was regularly assailed with questions regarding his condition: if every person he met asked about his red eyes (or something), he'd be ready to bite their heads off, too. For now, he simply tucked the terminology--Tourette's--away into a pocket of his brain for later research. The humans had explanations for just about everything if one bothered to look. Usually Anselm lacked the patience for wordier works, preferring pictures and short, concise explanations, but if something outrageous enough tripped his curiosity he'd put a little extra effort into his studies.
@&#&$"Nah, I doubt the world will come crashing to an end in the next few hours," he replied, the words somewhat abstract. The bronze hybrid very much wished to get back to Alacrity with supplies before the foul weather set in, but ultimately she already knew where his existing blankets were if she needed them. And if the temperature suddenly plummeted to sub-freezing and the sky dumped metres of snow in the blink of an eye, they'd have much bigger problems anyway. Why not face the apocalypse stoned? These derailed musings brought a small smirk to his face, though his back was turned toward the other and by the time he turned again, it was gone. Cotl appeared much smaller now that he was not atop the horse, but between his predominantly wolf blood and keeping company with coyotes, he was used to standing several heads taller than most.
@&#&$"Ridiculous, ain't it? Mostly thanks to my daughter; without her to plant all of it, there wouldn't have been as much to harvest." He shrugged, making his way to one shelf and selecting a couple of jars from it. "Usually trade one at a time," he explained absently, "but for something permanent a couple of the bigger ones seems appropriate." Each held at least an ounce to an ounce and a half, though the two he picked now were overfilled--a full quarter pound, which he figured to be quite fair. He wasn't looking for anything big or extravagant anyway; Anselm preferred to keep his tattoos subtle to the point where they were inconspicuous at a distance.
@&#&$With that, he plopped the jars on the table and his own arse into the couch. "What's your preference, man?" he wondered, gesturing to the assortment of pipes already on the table as he began to scrape together some bud from an existing pile.
@&#&$The curiosity was overwhelming, but the strained sigh made him think twice. It didn't take much to guess that the Infernian was regularly assailed with questions regarding his condition: if every person he met asked about his red eyes (or something), he'd be ready to bite their heads off, too. For now, he simply tucked the terminology--Tourette's--away into a pocket of his brain for later research. The humans had explanations for just about everything if one bothered to look. Usually Anselm lacked the patience for wordier works, preferring pictures and short, concise explanations, but if something outrageous enough tripped his curiosity he'd put a little extra effort into his studies.
@&#&$"Nah, I doubt the world will come crashing to an end in the next few hours," he replied, the words somewhat abstract. The bronze hybrid very much wished to get back to Alacrity with supplies before the foul weather set in, but ultimately she already knew where his existing blankets were if she needed them. And if the temperature suddenly plummeted to sub-freezing and the sky dumped metres of snow in the blink of an eye, they'd have much bigger problems anyway. Why not face the apocalypse stoned? These derailed musings brought a small smirk to his face, though his back was turned toward the other and by the time he turned again, it was gone. Cotl appeared much smaller now that he was not atop the horse, but between his predominantly wolf blood and keeping company with coyotes, he was used to standing several heads taller than most.
@&#&$"Ridiculous, ain't it? Mostly thanks to my daughter; without her to plant all of it, there wouldn't have been as much to harvest." He shrugged, making his way to one shelf and selecting a couple of jars from it. "Usually trade one at a time," he explained absently, "but for something permanent a couple of the bigger ones seems appropriate." Each held at least an ounce to an ounce and a half, though the two he picked now were overfilled--a full quarter pound, which he figured to be quite fair. He wasn't looking for anything big or extravagant anyway; Anselm preferred to keep his tattoos subtle to the point where they were inconspicuous at a distance.
@&#&$With that, he plopped the jars on the table and his own arse into the couch. "What's your preference, man?" he wondered, gesturing to the assortment of pipes already on the table as he began to scrape together some bud from an existing pile.