Mug crumbles in his quivering grip. Sigh. Tragic waste of coffee.

... Feminism.

"... Repaired," he corrects succinctly. Perhaps if she approves of it, she'll give him more clothing articles that are in need of restoration.

Nodding to confirm— although something in him feels a surge of trepidation. Was he not supposed to?

Relief, indeed. Unsure what to do with the comment about his character, but he can acknowledge the latter question. "Your needle," he answers plainly, referring to her sewing kit. He has seen it in action. By Maddie, by old ladies on local television. And then he replicated.

... Nods. Not a compliant one— but one that seemed like he was determined. Perhaps even hoping for a task of this caliber. "How about... breakfast?" He would like to learn how to prepare that. Sonic tends to sleep in.

༄ 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘺 #ℱɪʟᴛʜɪᴇ 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞 𝙬𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙮 𝙞𝙩. ⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘴𝘰𝘯 ; 𝙞𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙞𝙗𝙡𝙚

Learn your place.

The silence was comforting while it lasted.

... "Cease your tomfoolery." Cretin.

Vanishes. Nowhere to be found.

Staring very intently at ‍ ‍ ‍ 𝗦𝗛𝗔𝗗𝗢𝗪. Almost unblinking, intent stare. ... Then, out of nowhere: "You're a melanistic hedgehog."

. . . "I beg your pardon?" Seems he did not appreciate that statement.

Slowly peeking over.

"No." Drawing closer anyway. Leaning his head forward.

"It was peaceful without you around." Translation: boring. Some silent sigh of relief escapes his nose at the sound of said pendant. He hadn't removed it. Good.