♠ - Well, one thing this one’s got for them. They’re got a beautiful voice. Real pretty, like a birdsong. Like, uh, she’s not the best at describing poetry stuff but even she could tell their voice was beautiful. Even when he was just using it to pronounce her name. Very very slowly. Well, it was a start, anyway? “Yep. Me. Farina.”, she declared, slapping a hand against her own chest. “Nice to meet ya!” Well, that was the introductions done. The next step was to figure out how he interpreted that and that nod was an answer by itself. The kitchens, it was! “Well, alright then.”, she laughed. “Let’s get down to the kitchens and get you those crackers!” But before that, she may as well warn the kitchen staff first. “Wait right here.”, she told Denning as they approached the kitchen doors. “I’m, uh, just gonna have a chat with the kitchen staff first. Be right back!”
And with that, she simply shoved open the kitchen doors and grabbed the attention of the one of the chefs in charge.
“Professor Farina! What a surprise! Is there anything we can help you for?”
“Right, about that…”, she began, tugging at her earlobe awkwardly. “I’ve got this…uh…” How to describe Denning exactly. She kinda got his situation but them being a sorta soul-eating zombie still kinda freaked her out. She was just putting that aside for the time being. “A ‘friend’. He’s sorta unique. And it’s not really their fault. He was just never taught how to speak properly…I guess.” That was her best guess as to how he ended up this way, she assumes. Even pronoun'ing them was turning out to be a little tricky. “So, he’s gonna be a little strange. Don’t mind them too much. Is that alright?”, she decided to finish. A series of awkward nods soon filled the faces of the kitchen staff. Fair enough. That was probably how she’d react to something like this happening, anyway.
“Alright, Denning! You can come in now!”, she turned to shout at the kitchen doors, loud enough that she was pretty sure they could hear. Huh, who knew a simple joke got them this far already? Now…it was just anyone’s guess whether that Morph could get himself understood.
It is not Denning’s first time in the kitchens, even if they never had much reason to visit. Occasionally they were to retrieve water, or sugar, or something the like, but it is hardly anything they need more than pantomime for. Still, they cannot say that they know the cooks, much less all of the ones who could be on duty, so they wait patiently, obediently for Farina to return.
Only she doesn’t, her voice cutting back through the otherwise murmuring soundscape. Denning steps into the kitchen with purpose, one-two-three-four, stops, looks about and finds that they are being watched.
Hm. though unused to scrutiny from more than one, they are not bothered. They are here for a purpose. Pointing at a cupboard they know to hold miscellaneous ready-to eat supplies, they announce: “Cracker.”
Silence sets into the kitchen for a moment, all the cooks staring at the morph, occasionally glancing at Farina.
“So… He wants a cracker?” One asks. Denning nods, gravely. “Uh, we can get him one.”
♠ - She hadn't expect a single joke to go quite this far. It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment comment based on their most famous trait during their last encounter, after all.
And especially not all the way to the kitchens asking after crackers. "Um...", she began awkwardly, scratching lightly at the back of her head. "Better bring him a tin full. He's got a, um, limited vocabulary?" Well, she'd already explained his situation beforehand so hardly worth repeating.
The cooks stared at one another before one of them shrugged, dug into the cabinets and produced a small tin of biscuits that they then passed over towards Denning.
Farina shot a glance over in Denning's direction as the gift was offered. Do they even know what to do with it? Do Morphs even eat? Come to think of it, she's never actually been sure about that. They're more like these zombie things, right? Do they even need to eat?
Oh, well. Shrugging her own shoulders, Farina then raised an arm up into the air as if making her own order. "Oh, and gimme some cheeses, thanks! The bitier the better." Well, why not? She'd come all this way. Why not pick up something of her own?
