(Lucretia might be a outwardly exasperated about the food fiasco if she weren't silently impressed that they've figured out how to batter and fry a wooden alphabet block. It's so... square. It almost looks tasty.
Anyway. She notices the little cluster of parasites pouring through a book dangerously close to where the cauldrons are set up, and hurriedly elbows her way over.)
Excuse me– please, that's mine. (Only one of the parasites looks up at her as she approaches, its antennae twitching curiously. "Yours?" it says, and turns the page so its fellows can keep... reading? Looking? Oh god, hopefully they aren't reading. Lucretia's ears feel hot.)
Yes, uh... it's my journal, it's what I write all of my observations in. It would taste very bad if you fried it, so I'd like to ask for it back. (One of the other parasites glances over at the cauldron, then back at her, then at the journal. Lucretia blinks, then very pointedly raises her hand and puts a little barrier of holy energy firmly over the top of the cauldron, like a lid.)
no subject
Anyway. She notices the little cluster of parasites pouring through a book dangerously close to where the cauldrons are set up, and hurriedly elbows her way over.)
Excuse me– please, that's mine. (Only one of the parasites looks up at her as she approaches, its antennae twitching curiously. "Yours?" it says, and turns the page so its fellows can keep... reading? Looking? Oh god, hopefully they aren't reading. Lucretia's ears feel hot.)
Yes, uh... it's my journal, it's what I write all of my observations in. It would taste very bad if you fried it, so I'd like to ask for it back. (One of the other parasites glances over at the cauldron, then back at her, then at the journal. Lucretia blinks, then very pointedly raises her hand and puts a little barrier of holy energy firmly over the top of the cauldron, like a lid.)