Gemüse could only watch the sight–he could acknowledge it as a display of merriment, but it was still a bit of a, how should he say? overreaction to such a simple thing.
Gemüse’s eyebrows furrowed, nose wrinkling a bit.
“Well, I was born in a world of magic, so I couldn’t tell you what it’s like to not have it.” He shrugged, rolling his shoulders before crossing his legs, tapping the tip of his shoe against the concrete.
The topic of his appearance drifted, once again, close to topics he didn’t want to address, but he didn’t think he could get away with ignoring it again. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to it, but the bluntness of the questions–even though he knew they were innocent–still made him shy away.
“Genetics. I guess. I don’t know. I have my mom’s eyes, but my hair has always been a mystery. And my glasses? Maybe. They’re fitted to sit at the top of my nose, so they’d probably fit weirdly on you.”
And as though to mimic the person he was talking to, Bercilak moved to ‘sit down’ as well, except there was no chair to seat his ass on. “Hm, hm... good point there! I wouldn’t know what it’s like if I weren’t born the way I was, too. Or place I was. Raised where I was? Whatever!”
“Ohhh, genetics! Kyeck. I wouldn’t know how that works.” Well, he did, but only a little bit. “The green looks good on ya! Everyone looks good in green. I obviously pull it off the best, though.” How did that compliment turn into narcissism so quickly?
“Would it look weird on me? Aw, I don’t want to look dorky, so maybe I’ll pass. Kyeheheh... hey, hey, since this place is full of magic, apparently, is that why you don’t think I look weird? You haven’t freaked out or whatever!”
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