You know that pressure you get on the back of your head while you're eating or doing something in the kitchen? That pressure that can only come from a pair of mournful eyes. That pressure that belongs to an animal that is doing its very best to send waves from its brain into yours so that you will share a bite of your delicious whatever-it-is with it?
That was the pressure Maurice was giving off as he stood awkwardly in the kitchen doorway (and took up the entire passage with his horse-end). Yesterday he'd been too busy having an existential crisis to eat. In all the excitement he'd sort of forgotten food was a thing, but now he smelled it and it smelled amazing.
But he didn't know these guys.
Social interaction was not his highest stat...but that animal instinct that had been coldly inserted into the back of his brain like an old NES cartage demanded he stand there and stare and surely dinner would come his way.
It also didn't help that he had no idea what they were making or what he could even eat. Everything was stupid.
no character pref!
That was the pressure Maurice was giving off as he stood awkwardly in the kitchen doorway (and took up the entire passage with his horse-end). Yesterday he'd been too busy having an existential crisis to eat. In all the excitement he'd sort of forgotten food was a thing, but now he smelled it and it smelled amazing.
But he didn't know these guys.
Social interaction was not his highest stat...but that animal instinct that had been coldly inserted into the back of his brain like an old NES cartage demanded he stand there and stare and surely dinner would come his way.
It also didn't help that he had no idea what they were making or what he could even eat. Everything was stupid.