[Normally Janine would ignore him. A loner herself, she's disinclined to interrupt someone who's broadcasting I'm-busy-leave-me-alone signals like that. But this guy? He was here when she came through looking for food, and when she left, and some hours later when she was starting to feel hungry again, and he's still here and intent as she leaves her second meal.
Clearly he's not dead. Janine watches, considering. If Loki were here he might have snatched at that tempting loose hair, or dropped or flung a scrap of food at him, or just snapped in his face to see if he jumped. Janine is a more cautious and considerate soul, though she does imagine doing each of these things. And then wonders if he'd notice if she painted designs around him. And on his back. And if she put things in his lap.
...for all her cynicism, she's still very young. Quietly Janine pads closer. Her 'essence', the part that was her before she became a great flying lizard, is not entirely confined to this body but rather reaches out and around it. She has a form of empathy that she does not quite know how to master, and so something of that frustrated fascination blurs and becomes hers, itching at her so that she whips her beak down and scrapes herself with it to no avail.
Just leaving is not an option now. She circles him, watching out of her left eye. Then begins the work of making a paint out of flowers, shells, fruit and so on, ground with a primitive mortar and pestle made from rocks she's found, and forming a brush large enough for her from long grass stems.]
no subject
Clearly he's not dead. Janine watches, considering. If Loki were here he might have snatched at that tempting loose hair, or dropped or flung a scrap of food at him, or just snapped in his face to see if he jumped. Janine is a more cautious and considerate soul, though she does imagine doing each of these things. And then wonders if he'd notice if she painted designs around him. And on his back. And if she put things in his lap.
...for all her cynicism, she's still very young. Quietly Janine pads closer. Her 'essence', the part that was her before she became a great flying lizard, is not entirely confined to this body but rather reaches out and around it. She has a form of empathy that she does not quite know how to master, and so something of that frustrated fascination blurs and becomes hers, itching at her so that she whips her beak down and scrapes herself with it to no avail.
Just leaving is not an option now. She circles him, watching out of her left eye. Then begins the work of making a paint out of flowers, shells, fruit and so on, ground with a primitive mortar and pestle made from rocks she's found, and forming a brush large enough for her from long grass stems.]