Definitely not Kiki's Delivery Service

[myironeyes]

I've noticed a number of absences at dinner.

I'm not affected and I'm not interesting in asking you questions.

[The first is a lie: he can do that, when not asked a direct question. The second is mostly true, except by implication, because he might ask questions anyway. Like this one.]

Which of you are skipping meals to avoid encountering people during this flood?

[Anyone who answers yes - and even some of you who don't - are going to get food deliveries from Trainspike Hedgehog, here.]

[OOC: feel free to through up a spam response to him knocking, if you want that instead of a network thread.]

Comments

[voice ; private]

[myironeyes]

When I was a child, my brother and I rarely had enough to eat, and occasionally risked real starvation. Now I'm responsible for the dinner shift, and I don't like people going hungry. I also understand the desire for privacy.

What's your cabin number?

[That's Marsh: spiky and helpful.]

[voice ; private]

[walkingmeltdown]

You're serious, aren't you. Well, all right then. Why not.

[He would have been more than fine with having to go another day without food, but he's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth either. Well; look too hard.]

Floor six, number eleven. Do me a favor: knock exactly twice. There are a few people I'm trying especially hard to avoid.

[voice ; private] => spam

[myironeyes]

I am.

Soon, then.

[And sure enough, a little while later, a man in a dementor cape with steel trainspikes through his eyesockets knocks twice on the door of the radioactive horror with a picnic basket of fresh bread, a few pieces of roast chicken, carrots, and fresh fruit. BE HEALTHY, radioactive horror.]

[spam]

[walkingmeltdown]

[Who are you calling a horror, pal? Blight tries very hard to suppress his double-take when he gets a look at him up close.]

Thanks. [He starts to reach out slowly with one hand to snatch the basket, but can't seem to help himself:] All right, no, I have to ask. How is it that you can still see where you're going? With the...

[Vague gesture towards his own eye sockets.]

[spam]

[myironeyes]

[BLIGHT LET'S BE HORRORFRANDS]

Magic.

I see - sense, and it looks blue in my head - metals. Even very trace amounts. There's some metal in almost everything, but which ones in which amounts vary enough to distinguish most things.

[This does mean he's basically colorblind, and doesn't see light at all; he sees shapes and forms and the bright splash of watches and buckles, but he totally can't really tell that blight looks different from anyone else.]

[spam]

[walkingmeltdown]

[UM NO LET'S NOT AND SAY WE DID.]

Well that's...uniquely helpful. [It does occur to him that probably means he can't tell what Blight looks like, and that bemuses him.] At least you're not running into doors.

[spam]

[myironeyes]

Small mercies.

[The driest tone you've ever heard in your life.]

[spam]

[walkingmeltdown]

Right. Small mercies. [Wryly echoing, since that's a phrase he's used himself more than once lately.] Still, rather considerate of you on the door-to-door service. I'd offer you a tip, but considering there's no economy here and all...that'd be pretty pointless.

[That was a joke. A pretty flat one, but still.]

[spam]

[myironeyes]

A...tip of what?

[Guess who comes from psudeo-medieval Nazi Mordor and has never heard of such a thing.]

[spam]

[walkingmeltdown]

[While he can't know the specifics he reads the gist in a heartbeat.] Oh, never mind.