fandomhighdorms | Second Floor Common Room; Friday Morning.

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Second Floor Common Room; Friday Morning.

There was only one drawback of a visit home for Adah. She was a quiet, solitary soul, and so the apartment was always quiet, but the one thing it wasn't was solitary. Most of the time spent between herself and her mother seemed to exist with each of them going about their business, but with the sharp awareness that the other was at least there. True, now that she was back, she still had Pride to keep her company, but, that morning, as she tried to settle in and read, she felt herself feeling restless over the fact that the only other presence in the room was a tiny ball of fluff.

She didn't even know if anyone would bother to be up and around right now, but at least relocating to the common room would give her a chance to move around a little, and it would give Pride more space to sniff around without her constant fear that he'd take on his mother's habit of chewing on books. There was also a coffee pot in the common room, and coffee, she figured, would be just as nice of a substitute for a presence as a presence itself.

Better, even, because it was tasty. She leaned her back on the counter a little, waiting for the gurgling of the brewing coffee, watching Pride as he sniffed suspiciously at the darkness underneath the couch.

[[ open of course. yaaay coffee ]]

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Adah was disappointed in herself for expecting that the dramatic pause might have brought on something a little less predictable than the ceiling, and she had to duck her head, mug to mouth, in an attempt to not laugh. She snorted, though, getting her nostrils full of the scent of coffee, and drew away enough to shake her head. If she were more vocal or had a desire to murder her love of logic, she might have asked about the technicalities of a human-to-ceiling relationship, and inquire as to how that was working out for the boy from maths class, but she merely sipped her coffee again and sent another glance upward toward the ceiling, one more judgmental sort of glance toward the object of his affection (and rather pleased to find that to be a literal choice of words), and then glanced back at him with a slight nod as though she approved of his fondness for it. It was very nice, yes, she couldn't argue that fact. It was even quite structurally sound, or so it seemed. The comment of a dog falling through it did have her seeming to shift a little bit closer to the wall out of precaution, with an arch of her eyebrow in question about the last comment.

A dog falling through Karal's roof was definitely something she would be interested in hearing about. She could just envision it now, him sitting in his room with his prayers and devotions, only to have them answered by a canine from the heavens.

"Not-- it's not like that. Things might, you know... fall. And there's gravity to account for, it doesn't really let up for anyone, does it? Especially not my dog, she's a bit... excitable."

Jeff's expression was so thoroughly wide-eyed it was quite possible he wasn't actually seeing much at all. He did, however, begin his valiant scrambling: "I mean, it's not the ceiling, it's my girlfriend."

Maybe not the best choice of words.

An interesting statement, like the gravity was almost an afterthought to the falling, although Adah, silly her, had always thought that it was a more direct connection. She had to allow a little impressed lift of her eyebrows at the strange ceiling lover for the choice of words regarding gravities relentlessness. She barely figured it was an intentional wordsmithing, though.

She glanced toward the ceiling again, unable to help herself. Of all the inanimate objects to go and get yourself enamored with, really...a ceiling? She wondered how much of that was psychological, a covertly expressed need for cover, for shelter, and then she snorted, because psychoanalysis was mostly bullshit anyway.

Back to the boy again, her head tilted, to the side and slightly forward, imploring him as kindly as an expression could to, please, continue. Did his ceiling girlfriend have a name, for example? Or perhaps a favorite color? How might he avoid the chance that she might fall in love with the floor over him, considering how long she spent staring at the floor with bright, florescent light eyes?

The girl wasn't actually saying much.

This fact registered, ever-so-slowly, on Jeff's mind.

It was taking some time to seep in.

"...Not that the ceiling is my girlfriend, I mean, it's a bit flat, isn't it? Er..." His expression had taken on quite comical levels of panic, and he'd be edging back towards the wall had he found the ability to do so. "...Are you a mute? 'Cos, I mean, I'm certain my dog won't fall through this ceiling, she's three floors up, that's a bit of a descent..."

Nevaeh ni Dog, this boy's utter lack of the grace of a transition was little bit astounding. Adah blinked a few times as her mind struggled to keep up with a comparison to the vast expanse of flat ceiling to the vast expanse of a flat chest like she used to have at fourteen, or like River's actually, to the presumption that she was mute (which she was certainly going to continue to propegate) to the possible suggest that her being mute had an effect on whether or not his dog would fall through the ceiling.

She blinked a few times, gave her head a very deliberate shake, like an Etch-a-Sketch, disrupting the jerking, criss-crossing paths of magnetized sand so that they fell away, trying to make a clean slate, but she could never shake it hard enough, residual ghost lines of the amature geometry remaining, clinging to the screen.

And then she blinked again at the boy, forehead wrinkling with the clear indication that he'd either better start making sense soon, or she was just going to start running with the babbling, and she didn't think that he'd really terribly want her to do that, else he have quite the interesting picture of himself cemented into her head.

"My girlfriend's not flat," Jeff said, defensively, and completely and utterly misunderstanding any sort of point that may or may not have been raised.

He was a little bit busy being (and sounding) absolutely terrified, "But she's not very fond of the dog."

He paused, again.

"...She eats things."

Adah bit her lip; the shift from utter speechlessness to almost picking up his seeming tendency to blurt was a strong, overpowering one, tugging at her stomach like the rollicking of a ship on a stormy sea. The immediate question of who ate things, the dog or the girlfriend, or perhaps even ceiling, actually wanted to slip out of Adah, but she bit her lip and held it in, and merely tried to ask it within the fine lines of her creasing, frowning, questioning forehead.

That one wasn't too hard to understand, really, when you thought about it, or you were just about as paranoid as Jeff was. "Oh, it's the dog," he clarified, with a relieved little nervous grin, "...I mean, not that my girlfriend doesn't eat things, 'cos it'd be kind of hard, you know, she's not a..."

What wasn't she?

"...uneater. She enjoys eating things. My girlfriend."

Oh, yes, well, that was good. Adah nodded. Couldn't have people going around, uneating things. Despite herself, a small, breathy snort of a laugh that lacked any sort of volume slipped out of her and she shook her head. She glanced toward the boy again, tilted her head as she made a rounded shape in front of her with her good arm, coffee mug still in place, and then added a momentary puffing of her cheeks, a bloating of air, in the unspoken question wondering exactly how much she might enjoy eating things.

Jeff blew a little chunk of air into one of his own cheeks, and then noted, affably, "Well, sort of in the middle, you know."

Adah, lips tight together against a smile, nodded agreeably to this answer. Sort of in the middle was good; healthy, was what that meant, and she was thinking that anyone dating this boy would probably have to be healthy as such to be able to keep up with him.

Of course, she also had a theory that the girlfriend was completely made up, and the assessment that she was sort of in the middle was just a smart move on his behalf to make the imagined paramour realistic.

"Not like-- er-- not like the ceiling," Jeff continued, with a level of doggedness that was entirely misplaced in this situation, "Which is flat, and probably doesn't eat much."

He retraced that statement. "...Being a ceiling, you know. I don't think they've got much interest in eating."

Adah sent another gaze upwards, a wary one, a tentative one.

A very distinctly we could only certainly hope that they don't, anyway sort of look.

"...oh my god," Jeff mumbled, and backed away the inches he needed to back away to realise that backing away wasn't going to get him further away from the ceiling.

Wow.

Just...wow.

This boy from maths class just completely exceeded all her expectations on the easy manipulation of most of the male part of the species at or below her age.

So she, of course, propagated the situation by drawing in a deep, tentative breath, her eyes still watching the ceiling with a frightened wariness.

"...I'm sure that happened just the once," Jeff offered, a little bit on the wibbly side. "I mean, Nana's not like the Captain. She's not everywhere..."

Right?

"That would be ridiculous," he finished, patronisingly, and let his shoulders sag.

Adah had absolutely no idea what the boy from maths class was talking about.

That did not prevent her from looking at him with the stern question in the steel of her eyes. Would it be? Would it? Really?

"... ...Well, he's not real," Jeff muttered, but it lacked real verve, "...he can't be conspiring with the dog...."

Adah still didn't have a clue what he meant, but that didn't stop her from widening her eyes with the suggestion that real has nothing to do with it. Why wouldn't he be conspiring with the dog?

"He's not a real person!"

There was a panicked sense of the evangelical about Jeff's tone now, really.

"I'm certain my mother was just saying that."

Oh, Dog, mothers were working their way into this equation now? Adah felt she had to balk for at least a moment; cracking this boy's head open and picking at his brain was probably a concept that made fifty million Freudians around the world lose control of their tubes of toothpaste in symbolism.

You couldn't trust mothers, though. Messing with the poor boy's head or not, that much she knew to be true and that was the message she conveyed in the steel of her eyes.

Jeff nodded. Slowly.

She knew.

"My mother always wanted a daughter," he said, conspiratorally (sort of, in that frozen, nervous kind of way), "But she didn't, so she's trying to get me to fib more instead 'cos it'll make up for the difference."

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Second Floor Common Room; Friday Morning.

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