fandomhighdorms | Third Floor Common Room; Tuesday Morning.

It was not a rare occasion, by any means, for Chad to be seen with various creatures perched on his broad shoulders, especially in the form of his naked cat. They were just good perching shoulders, really. So he didn't think anything of the parrot that had found its way onto the one that Prince Oscar Pedro didn't already inhabit, although the cat was giving the bird a few dangerous looks behind Chad's head that Chad was completely ignorant of.

Of course, he didn't even notice the level of annoyance that the parrot could reach because one thing about being quiet is that it doesn't give the parrot anything to repeat. The only thing that had really transgressed so far was that they were going to make omelettes. Apparently, the bird really liked omelettes, which Chad thought was a little odd, but whenever he tried to ask them, what they wanted for breakfasts, did they want cereal? Did they want fruit? Did they want omelettes, the bird would just caw, "Want omelettes! Want omelettes!"

And so Chad was in the common room, making omelettes for his cat, his new bird, and himself. And anyone else who might want one.

[[ open, of course, and, as always, omelettes are completely moddable! also, yay having a Chad foodishness icon now XD ]]

[[ and it always said morning. wtf, brain? ]]

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Chad...

...was really confused. It probably didn't help that their conversation was being related practically in surround sound squawking stereo.

"Did you cast a spell or something?" he asked, wondering what being a witch would have to do with any of it.

"Spell or something, rawwwrk!"

Agnes frowned. "No, I... The magic -- I'm just learning, you know, so sometimes... it leaks."

"It leaks! It leaks!" the budgie repeated.

The cockatoo squawked loudly and preened its wing for a moment. "You should show him your voice!"

"...oh," Chad said, like he understood, although he wasn't entirely sure he did. He felt bad about that, and eyed the cockatoo for a moment. Well, if a parakeet could be a little boy, a cockatoo could be Agnes' subconscious. Why not? He'd been a cup of tea, so, really, anything was possible.

"Oh!" squawked his parrot in a much brighter voice, flapping wings that were promptly pulled back in after Prince Oscar Pedro took a swing at them.

But the cockatoo brought up a point that interested Chad and seemed like something he could understand. "Your voice?" he asked, wondering if maybe this Agnes Nitt was a good singer like the other one.

Agnes was still blushing, although now it was as much out of modesty as embarrassment. "Oh," she said, coughing nervously. "It's just, um..."

"I can throw it," said the corner.

"And disguise it," Agnes said in a perfect imitation of Chad's voice.

"And sing in harmony with myself," she sang, sounding like a full barbershop quartet.

She looked down at her toes again, and the budgie just whistled.

"Well, that's ONE way to shut it up," said the cockatoo.

Chad blinked.

Quite a few times, actually.

The singing in harmony thing was exactly what the other Agnes had done, so that wasn't so much of a surprise, but he didn't remember anything about throwing it or imitating other people's voices with it, the second of which was throwing him off just as much as it had the first time Teddy had shapeshifted, imitating his form. Chad was used to a lot of weird things, but people coming out producing things that were him would never, ever cease to make him feel a little uneasy.

He shook his head.

"The other Agnes," he said, vocalizing some of his thoughts when he realized that he didn't have anything else to say but those, "could do that singing thing, too. It's pretty cool."

"Pretty cool!" the parrot said, repeating the understatement brightly.

And now it was Agnes's turn to blink back. "She... could?" she asked. ("She could! She could!") She was starting to get a general idea of how Fandom worked, and... "So... She wasn't just some poor girl with the same name, was she?" ("Same name was she!") "She was... another me?" ("She was another me was another me!")

"Focus on the 'pretty cool' part!" squawked the cockatoo. "Ask him to say it again!"

Although his eyebrow underneath all of that hair quirked at the cockatoo, he couldn't help feeling at least a little amused by it's squawking this time. "It's pretty cool," he obliged (and the parrot followed suit), figuring Agnes might appreciate not having to acknowledge the suggestion and, while he certainly didn't mind, maybe just appeasing the subconscious cockatoo would get it to shut up a little bit.

"And, yeah," he added. "I think that might be it." ("Might be it!") "She looked a little different, though." ("Different, rawwrk! Different!") "Happens a lot around here; there's a different version of my best friend back in Japan going here now." ("In Japan! Going here now! Rawwwrk.")

Agnes smiled sheepishly.

"I guess it's like the stupid 'trousers of time', but on a much weirder scale," she mused. ("Much weirder scale!") She had to ask: "...Different how?" ("Different how! How different!")

"He means she wasn't such a fatarse," the cockatoo replied.

Agnes clapped her hands over her face and went back to wanting to die.

It was a good thing that Chad wasn't still cooking up an omelette or drinking anything at that moment because then he would have either burnt himself or spit liquid over half the kitchette. He wondered if it was possible that he, dark skin and everything, might actually be blushing more than Agnes was, because what the hell did you say to that? Well, sure, Agnes wasn't exactly slim by any accounts whatsoever, but that was just rude.

Although it did get Chad away from asking about the 'trousers of time,' which could have been disastrous.

He cleared his throat a little nervously. "He hair was darker," he explained, "and I think she might have been a little taller, too. But it's hard to tell for me."

"Tallertoo, tallertoo!" sang his parrot.

Agnes nodded vaguely, trying to breathe. "Yeah, I... I'm just going to eat some of this omelette now. Thank you. It smells lovely."

"Thank you smells lovely!" the budgie squawked.

"Good plan," added the cockatoo. "Next time try to shut the bird up."

Maybe the presence or perhaps even the mere idea, of a cockatoo of subconscious had made a little bit of Chad's own trickle out a bit, as he moved to clean up the pan for the next omelette. "Maybe," he muttered, his voice barely a rumble under the waterfall of the faucet of the sink, "next time a nice backhand smack across the room'll shut it up."

"Shut it up! Shut it up! Rawwrk!"

What? He liked birds. He liked them a lot. But he didn't like rude birds, especially to people he was friends with, or used to be friends with a version of, even if that rudeness was supposedly that friend's subconscious.

Agnes chuckled. "Maybe."

"Maybe! Maybe!"

The cockatoo, which still had no idea what it had been saying, cocked its head at Chad and then nervously tried to hide behind Agnes's hat.

Chad gave an approving grunt, an approving nod at the cockatoo's shifting, not realizing it did it out of confusion, as a victim of its situation, and actually think he'd done some good work there.

Third Floor Common Room; Tuesday Morning.

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