TDM 1 ⬡ The Oval Portrait

[liburuzaina]

	Casting Call The Oval Portrait Edgar Allan Poe »» "Long — long I read — and devoutly, devotedly I gazed." Name: The Aristocrat Casting Call: Characters with a Birthday from September through December Physical Notes: Desperately wounded, to the point of being bedridden, but not losing consciousness. Personality Notes: Curious, and prone to becoming enraptured by the pursuit of learning about whatever has caught their curiosity. Mildly delirious due to injury. Compulsions: To learn about their surroundings, whether through study of the portraits in the chateau apartment, conversation with a companion, or ill-advised exploration. «« »» "We established ourselves in one of the smallest and least sumptuously furnished apartments." Name: The Valet Casting Call: Characters with an Unknown Birthday Physical Notes: Older than The Aristocrat by ≥ 5 years. Personality Notes: Willing and able (by force or by cleverness) to break in to a home for the well-being of their employer. A caretaker by nature. Compulsions: To see that The Aristocrat is comfortable for the night and their wounds are tended to, and to get some rest themselves once their duty is complete. In the absence of The Aristocrat, The Valet is free to act as they please. «« »» "She was a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of glee." Name: The Maiden Casting Call: Characters with a birthday from May through August Physical Notes: Young, aged from 15-20. Personality Notes: All smiles, loving and cherishing of all things, hating only The Painter's art, for they deprive them of their lover. Compulsions: To live life to the fullest, to love, to be happy... But also to make their husband, The Painter happy, by being a good and willing subject for his portraiture, should he ask. ⬡ Will slowly waste away and die, should they sit and allow themselves to be painted. «« »» "And evil was the hour when she saw, and loved, and wedded the painter." Name: The Painter Casting Call: Characters with a birthday from January through April Physical Notes: Older than the maiden by ≥ 10 years. Personality Notes: Passionate, studious, austere, wild, moody. More in love with his art than his wife. Compulsions: To paint. To paint, and paint, and paint some more. To ask their lovely wife to be the subject for their next piece, and to throw themselves into the completion of it. ⬡ Unaware they are doing harm with their painting, until it is complete. «« code @ efryndiel The Chateau ⬡ Common Cast Characters most likely to originate in The Chateau are The Aristocrat and The Valet ⬡ Literary Description "To all appearance it had been temporarily and very lately abandoned. We established ourselves in one of the smallest and least sumptuously furnished apartments. It lay in a remote turret of the building. Its decorations were rich, yet tattered and antique. Its walls were hung with tapestry and bedecked with manifold and multiform armorial trophies, together with an unusually great number of very spirited modern paintings in frames of rich golden arabesque." ⬡ For Your Exploration Characters may attempt to explore the Chateau, but it will be shrouded in darkness, and every room they enter will bring them back to the apartment chosen by The Valet. What decorations may be seen are dark and victorian in design, and the room and halls may be lit by candlelight. The Maiden's portrait is on the wall, and will initially be cloaked in shadow for The Aristocrat to find. It appears remarkably lifelike, almost as though it is a window instead of a portrait. The other paintings on the walls will contain figures that are almost familiar to The Aristocrat and The Valet - as though they could be someone they know, but only if they squint. There is no electricity. Characters will not have access to any powers. The Artist's Tower ⬡ Common Cast Characters most likely to originate in The Artist's Tower are The Maiden and The Painter ⬡ Literary Description "But she was humble and obedient, and sat meekly for many weeks in the dark, high turret-chamber where the light dripped upon the pale canvas only from overhead. But he, the painter, took glory in his work, which went on from hour to hour, and from day to day." ⬡ For Your Exploration Should characters leave the Painter's studio, they will immediately be transported outside, to a sprawling field of wildflowers. There won't seem to be anything else around, but there will be a light breeze and the sound of the sea in the distance. Inside the studio, the air is stale and musty, smelling of oil paints and turpentine. It's dim, lit only by a skylight. There is a stool for the subject and an easel with canvas sitting in the light, but everything else - art materials, more canvases, both empty and with the beginnings of paintings, and props - are all pushed to the sides of the room and cloaked in shadow. Like The Chateau, there is no electricity, and characters will not have access to their powers. The Library ⬡ Welcome! Free from their roles, through either death, completion of the Story, or from not being pulled into the tale in the first place, characters will find themselves in the gardens outside of the Library itself. As always, it will look and feel like a temperate, autumn afternoon. As this setting is part of the Library itself, characters will have full access to all their powers. ⬡ Grand Opening Coming Soon! The front door will, unfortunately, be locked, and a sign will be taped on the doors, detailing how the Library will be opening soon, but in the meantime to please enjoy the grounds and the pizza party in the courtyard. ⬡ Pizza party? Pizza party! In the courtyard, there will be tables set up that will be absolutely covered in stacks of paper plates, 2-liter bottles of any soda one could dream of, and stacks and stacks of pizza boxes, containing any flavor combination that could be desired. Opening a random box will provide a random, but popular, flavor. Opening a box with an Intent and a Desire for something specific will provide exactly that. Enjoy! It won't run out. navigation • premise • reserves • faq

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felix hugo fraldarius | fe:3h | painter!

[brothered]

i. something, something, french girls

[Felix is not, ah, particularly artistic? Art is to be admired, in his opinion. From a distance. It's best if he doesn't participate—but as Felix pokes about this tower, peering at the art supplies strewn about, it's as though something calls to him. For the first time in a long time, Felix feels the desire to create.

And so create he does! Sitting himself before the easel, he takes in the sight of both the smooth, untouched canvass—and the person positioned directly across from him, sitting straight-backed in a chair. Hi. Hello. This is his muse, apparently, and while Felix finds himself admiring their aesthetic—seriously, that profile!—he spares them only the briefest glances once he picks up a nub of charcoal. What matters is, like, capturing their essence? Something he's in a bit of a hurry to do, as evidenced by his quick, rough strokes, by the fact that he pays no mind to the cool breeze blowing through the open window. Maybe his muse shivers; maybe his muse just takes a particularly deep breath! Either way, Felix is quick to snap:]

Are you trying to ruin everything? Sit still.

[Rather rude, and yet he pays it no mind as he continues sketching away. Call him out—or, if you're an observer, feel free to stand behind him and witness his artistic expertise on display. Compulsion does not bring skill, you see, so feel free to give him some pointers...]

ii. let's make flower crowns

[A field of flowers is another un-Felix-y thing, and yet, as he stands in the middle of this one—well! Well. For the first time in many, many years, Felix finds himself stooping to pluck flower after flower, forming a sort of makeshift, multi-colored bouquet in his hand. It's relaxing, in a way... rather nice...

...Until another person comes into view, and suddenly Felix straightens, his purpose so clear.]

You. Come here.

[Come here!! Because as he holds his bouquet higher, squinting a bit while lining it up with the side of this person's head:]

Has your hair always been this dull? [he asks, simply, as though this is an undeniable fact and not an incredibly rude thing to say.] Perhaps if we add flowers... the right color to brighten it...

[We're going to play this, but with pretty wildflowers. Get hype.]

iii. ye olde pizza

[As Felix wanders about this courtyard, the scowl on Felix's face makes it clear that he isn't exactly pleased to be here—but that's nothing new, because hey! Felix is rarely pleased about anything! Feel free to catch him studying the doors to the library, muttering to himself as his attempts to shake them open fail to do anything at all? Or catch him loitering by the Pizza Table, one hand on his hip as he cautiously pries open a box with the other. Huh...]

What is this?

[It's like bread... with cheese? Very Gautier™, if you ask him; he doesn't trust it at all, especially as he lifts a (floppy) pizza slice to inspect it and—oh! Well, there goes both the cheese and the toppings, just sort of... slowly (and sadly) slipping off the side...

...Disgusting. The face he pulls makes that opinion clear, but when some brave someone sidles up to him to grab a piece of their own, he wastes no time leveling them with a look.]

Don't tell me you plan to eat it.

[Bruh, look at this piece he's still holding a full foot in front of him? The cheese continues inching ever lower?? Respect yourself.]

iv. wildcard

[want felix for anything? anything at all? toss me a starter or hit me up over at tuchanka ! i am down for EVERYTHING!]

i (hiya, hope this is okay!)

[kiboutraveler]

[Jyushimatsu has no idea what is going on. None at all. But he's sitting there, because he's married to this man, and he loves him. He's not sure how that turned out. But hey, he's not in a position to really complain.

He doesn't even remember his name.

Oh well! Little things like that don't matter when you're in love! Probably!

He's snapped at to sit still, and he straightens up a bit.]

Haaa...sorry.

[...And he cannot even remotely sit still. The minute Felix looks again, he's crouched in the chair. Another glance and he's under the chair. Then he's standing next to the chair. Then he's lying with his stomach on the chair.

And then abruptly he realizes he has to stay still--]

Ah.

[He freezes with one leg on the chair, one off it. This is literally the worst pose he could've chosen. He's gonna fall.]

GOD it absolutely is

[brothered]

[Does Felix love his spouse? Well. On some level, perhaps—but damn, if it isn't difficult to reach for that affection as he catches this man in a new position every time he glances back his way. Love is patient, love is kind, etc, and yet—]

Will you stop?

[Goddess! Time to slam this charcoal down, probably snapping it in two in the process. Ah, well, at least there's plenty of this stuff lying about. Small blessings, especially when he looks back at his spouse, eyes widening as he takes in this precarious new pose.]

Don't move! Don't even think about falling, [he snaps, strangely hoarse, as he rushes forward—and doesn't concern himself with poor Jyushimatsu at all? Because there's a small table beside the chair, you see, covered by a nice linen cloth, and as Felix nears it:] Do you have any idea how long it took to drape this? For the lighting—

[Artist Speak™. Anyway, bud, where you fallin'... because Felix is too busy fussing over this tablecloth...]

[kiboutraveler]

Sorry~ it's hard to sit still for too long!

[...Ah. There goes the charcoal. He really is frustrated, isn't he? It'd almost be a little startling if this weren't his husband he's dealing with. It's fine. Probably? Probably. He's got faith. Unconditional faith.

Even when he's told not to move, not to think about falling, so okay, he doesn't. He remains perfectly still, a focused look on his face before he starts wobbling.]

No, I don't, 'cause I don't remember much--

[The tablecloth. Oh, god, he is trying to focus so hard on not falling. This is not a marked success but there is an ATTEMPT.]

Ah...is th--that really the concern right n-now??

[Wobble. Wobble.

And then finally, like a tree, he gives way.]

AH, CRAP!

[He finally loses his balance, and despite a vested effort to stay up, he claws at the air beneath his sleeve...and lands flat on his face on the floor in front of the chair.]

BOEH!

[He slowly picks his head up.]

Aah...ahahaha, that was bad...sorry...

I

[royalboar]

[It is hard to sit up straight, and still, when the haphazardly bandaged wound across his middle still feels like the dull point of a lance digging into his insides. It’s easier to tamp down the pain with fidgeting movement — a shift of his weight, the roll of his shoulders, or an arm across that same middle — as though to chase it away. Perhaps it would be better if he returned to the confines of his bed, he thinks for a moment, but only for a moment, because in the next breath he labels it a treacherous thought, remaining prisoner in his own room while the world spins its curiosities all around him.

Case in point where curiosities are concerned: the familiar face of the painter before him, who frowns at him from behind the easel and tells him to remain still. What focus! Focus that must be surely accompanied by skill, right?]

I am too curious to see your rendition of my face. Will you show me? That may stop my anxious fidgeting, though I cannot do anything about the way I breathe.

[Dimitri leans forward, regretting it immediately with a wince, but beckons with a gesture for Felix to turn the easel around.]

You needn’t be shy.

[(He knows shyness is not the issue.)]

[brothered]

[Of course shyness isn't the issue. Why would shyness ever be the issue? Felix is a master of his craft—and Dimitri's request thus prompts an irritated click of his tongue. Patrons and models are, as a general rule, so impatient, failing to realize the thought—the care—that goes into each painting; honestly, it's as though they believe Felix and his fellow artistes simply slap paint onto a canvas and call it a day. Ridiculous.

And thus Felix pauses his scribbling once more, leaning back around his easel to shoot Dimitri a Look. There's the niggling notion that Dimitri is&hdash;paler than he should be? That something isn't quite right about the bandages wrapped around his waist. Some part of Felix has always been, and will continue to be, concerned with Dimitri's general state—but art takes precedence in this whatever-it-is, so! Sir!]

There's no need for you to speak. [Hmph.] You'd take fewer breaths if you remained silent.

[He is just sayin', shortly, as he disappears behind this canvas once more. A few seconds of scratching, then, before he adds:]

You'll see it when I'm finished.

[Maybe! If Felix is feeling generous.]

[royalboar]

[“If Felix is feeling generous” is almost too big of a hope to hinge anything on. If he began to feel generous, he would have humored him already, and so Dimitri finds it very difficult to believe he will get an early peak of this apparently amazing work of art until he’s nigh finished. His want to move about, to poke his nose into everything that doesn’t necessarily have to do with him, so he cannot abide by it.]

Come now, you can find it in yourself to humor an injured man…

[Dimitri henceforth does the opposite of sitting still: he strains to push himself up to his feet, rather wobbly after all is said and done, but managing with the willpower of someone intensely curious. He only lingers a moment in one place, a hand bracing against the back of the chair to keep him steady before he moves towards the easel and Felix behind it. You can’t turn it around from him forever!]

I want to see the process—your talent at work.

[Some obtrusive thought at the back of his mind, flitting about like a ghost, wants to question since when could Felix paint? Has he always been able? But that thought is never brought to the forefront, swept away as ridiculous. Of course he has been. Right?]

art school critique time

[sidenote]

[Whoever is sitting in that chair is going to have to be even more patient, because this art gallery has a visitor, and he is far more interested in peering at the, ah... miraculous display of artistic genius... than quietly standing back and waiting his turn, or whatever. The hold the story has on him here is slackened somewhat, in the absence of any Aristocrats, but as he has generously interpreted his compulsion to take care of others as offering much-needed critique sometimes, well!

It's so lucky that he's here! Hello! He more or less appears at Felix's elbow-- elves, man-- and peers over his shoulder at the... art.]

When are you going to start the portrait, then?

[What are these Bean Shapes...]

f for felassan SUCKS

[brothered]

[Maybe there's no one else in this room at all? Maybe Felix is just sketching, like, the scenery. The vase full of wildflowers sitting atop the table beside the empty chair, because who cares where his significant other has run off to; he'll find them when he has need of them, and not a moment before.

And you know, he'll also ask for critique precisely when he has need of it! Which means... that he'll never ask for it, RIP, but listen: this advice is unnecessary. It's, like, undeniably rude to barge into his chambers just to ask such a question of him, which is why he pauses his scribbling long enough to shoot this fool a Look.]

Painting is a process. [As is anything, really, but sir:] Not that I expect you to understand.

[Weird lil valet man. Go away so he can continue sketching this oval-which-should-be-a-circle.]

"is that anime" - felassan 2020

[sidenote]

[It's very rude indeed, but you know what, manners are for other people and certainly not Felassan, who is already peering at the rest of this easel with a critical gaze. Does he know anything about art? More than Felix does, apparently, whew... it takes all kinds, huh...]

A process. [hmm!] At the moment, your painting looks like a squash, actually.

[What IS that, sir!! He has eyes, he can understand what is Not Art...]

ii flower crown design is our passion

[osuni]

[Okuni's hand immediately flies to her hair at Felix's remark, excuse??? She looks affronted?? She is absolutely affronted. What's wrong with her ebony raven black hair and scarlet crimson red fringe, hm?? Nothing!!]

I won't take any advice from someone who styles his hair like that.

[get rid of the ponytail flex... chop it off for the sake of us all,]

Anyway, if you want to be inspired so terribly, then perhaps you should start with yourself? There's a mushroom patch nearby you can use.

flashbacks to awash flower crowns tbqh

[brothered]

[So her full name is Okuni Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way? I see. I will address her as such in every tag going forward, but anyway: Ma'am? What is wrong with his hair? He brings a hand to it, briefly, to ensure it's still in its messy little ponytail—and it very much is, so what the heck. He is an artiste, thanks; he has more important things to worry about than his appearance, as evidenced by his paint-stained shirt.]

I'm not painting myself, [he snaps back, because duh!!] You're lucky that I'm painting you. You look—washed out.

[He may not know what he's talking about, but he does know that the vibes are WACK. So, naturally:]

What are you even wearing?

[What Not to Wear: Okuni Edition]

ochako and okuni... peak soft... and now felix and okuni... peak Something

[osuni]

[LFSDJ YES, that's how she'll sign every painting from now on.

Every word Felix utters is just as offensive as the first, incredible...]

You really haven't looked at yourself recently, have you?

[she's wearing her ridiculous KIMONO!!! and her outer jacket... which is also.............. black and red.... like her hair..... look at least it's all pristine?? Okuni leans forward so she can jab at a spot of paint on Felix's shirt. THERE, POINT MADE!!]

ooh lala

[sillysongstress]

[It's really not comfortable, holding the same pose for who knows how long - has the sun even moved in the sky!? Then there's the sheer gown she's adorned and the breeze, tickling her skin with a chill every time it passes through the open window.

But the real reason Annette is stirring is a sense of curiosity.

If Felix can interlope on her embarrassing singing hobby, then she gets to see his art before it's finished!

Leaning forward despite Felix's protests, Annette purses her lips.] Everyone needs breaks, you know. Even you! [She insists, but stays sitting... for now.]

ANNETTE?? my fav... i feel blessed 😭

[brothered]

[Ma'am! That's not how it works at the best of times? Let alone now, when Felix is driven by the desire—the need—to perfectly capture Annette's, ah, Annette-ness. Her brightness. Felix cares for every member of his old class, in his way, but Annette is a uniquely warm, welcome presence; as he continues working on his (admittedly terrible) sketch, he wants that to shine through.

...Too bad he doesn't have a creative bone in his body. Or maybe his difficulty stems from the fact that his model-slash-wife refuses to sit still, as directed? There's a quiet huff from behind the canvas—and yet, when Felix peeks around it once more, the Look he gives her is, all things considered, rather mild. This story can make Felix pick up a paintbrush, yes; it can make Felix pay little mind to Annette's shivering, but it can't make Felix glare at one of his favorite people. It's a universal constant.]

Why would I take a break now? I'm making progress.

[A touch defensively, because—well! It's true enough, in a way; he has a rough, stick figure-ish sort of outline going on here, so shh, let him just casually angle his easel further to the side. No peeking allowed!]

Just—tilt your head to the left. And look up. [Ah, wait. Hurriedly, hurriedly:] But not too high.

[Truly masterful direction.]

✨✨✨

[sillysongstress]

[Felix is stubborn. Too stubborn! He's treating this painting just like his training. The approach borders on obsession, and Annette suspects he's simply found yet another 'technique' to perfect.

It'd be admirable - it is admirable - but she's so uncomfortable!

She's both embarrassed and enthralled being the point of Felix's dedication. The later, somehow, outweighs the former.

Maybe because this time, she's not the one performing. The vulnerability is all his, and though her initial desire to see his progress stemmed from a petty sense of justice, now she just...

Wants to encourage him.

With a slow inhale, Annette moves as directed. Jaw tilted upwards, then adjusted back down just a bit. Facing left, but eyes still straining to watch Felix as he pours over the canvas.]

Will you show me a preview? Just a little one. A peek!

flower crown

[wadoichimonji]

Huh?

[Zoro looks around, and when he realizes the weird guy is talking to him, he shrugs, making his side hurt. He hisses, and holds his side for a bit, before starting walking to the man.]

Dull?

[His hair is green for fuck's sake. He's going to look like a pot of flowers.]

No, no flowers, screw that.

[brothered]

[Green hair can be dull! Can fade into the background if one doesn't utilize the proper colors to make it pop. That's all Felix can think about, in this moment; like, even as his eyes fall to the man's side, watching him clutch what must be some sort of wound, Felix thinks—well? Well. That certainly isn't going to ruin his painting. Bleed on your own time, mystery man...]

Yes, [he snaps, daring to take a few steps closer—and scowling all the while. Sir.] It's not for you to decide. Stand still.

[You're not the artiste!!]

[wadoichimonji]

[He'll bleed where he damn well pleases, thank you very much. Except there's no blood? What?

Zoro sighs, and just stands there. Staying still is easier than fighting with a short, angry man.]

what, exactly, are you planning to do?

the one where they're rping titanic

[acquaint]

[ except neither of them are remotely close to jack and rose, but give sylvain an excuse to just lounge around on a chaise looking pretty and he'll do it. even if it means he's slowly wasting away: a cold numbness that starts in his extremities that makes its way steadily up the rest of his limbs. not that either of them are really aware of it, because sylvain is in love with felix, isn't he? he's been in love with him for years, now—he knows this, just as well as he knows the long and dark winters of faerghus, how good the warmth of the sun felt on his face after returning to garreg mach; felix backlit in fiery gold as it gently peaked over the ruined stone wall of the church.

but that memory is hazy at best now. perhaps it was a dream from a lifetime ago. now, sylvain is draped in soft and loose linen, stretched out on his back with one arm over his head, face tipped towards felix. he can't feel the breeze against his foot, but that's fine. the quicker felix finishes, the sooner he can spend time with him again. these days, it almost feels like he hasn't seen him at all. ]

Or what? Will you restrain me yourself, sweetheart? [ that'd be nice. felix hasn't touched him in what feels like a year. ] Relax, the light's shifting and I'm only following it.

[ it brings out his eyes and his freckles, you see. the devil's in the details. ]

[brothered]

[Sylvain is in love with Felix, and Felix is in love with Sylvain—or, well. Felix knows that he is? Water is wet, you see. The sky is blue. Felix Hugo Fraldarius loves his spouse—but as Felix hurriedly draws his nub of charcoal across the canvas, doing his best to capture the long, languid line of Sylvain, that love somehow seems less important than Felix's need to capture it. He can do this! He will do this, even as Sylvain rolls farther to the side than is, in Felix's opinion, strictly necessary. The light is (frustratingly) better like this, Felix will give Sylvain that, but the overall composition—!]

Hardly. [Pfh! Like, the gall of Sylvain, The Model, to tell The Artist how this whole thing works?] I should paint while you're sleeping. You'll be impossible to pose, but at least you won't speak.

[Harsh words; harsh tone. Felix almost feels a twinge of guilt, truth be told, but—hmm. All it takes is one glance from his canvas to his husband to remind Felix that the once-perfect lines have shifted, and thus Felix clicks his tongue, clearly irritated.]

This is an important piece, Sylvain. I told you.

[Once, it felt important for them? Now, however, it's taken on a life of its own, and Felix wants—needs—to see it through.]

ii!

[electricities]

[ As a Valet, all Asami wants is to find her Aristocrat and make sure they're alright. Her mission is interrupted by someone asking for her attention rather abruptly, and as tempting as it is to say she's in a hurry, she'll indulge him and turn towards him. ]

Can I help y--

[ He holds up the bouquet mid-sentence and she immediately raises an eyebrow. Huh. What is he up to -- oh. He says her hair looks dull , and given the way he's scrutinizing her with those flowers, Asami has a feeling she knows where this is going. That's where she decides to draw the line. ]

Excuse me?

[ Look, she didn't ask to be roped into this, nor did she ask for this insult!! She looks very unimpressed and quite taken aback. While she doesn't exactly mind hair accessories and the bouquet is cute, she feels like this is a little patronizing. It takes her a moment to reply before she settles on: ]

Thanks, but I think I'm going to pass on the flowers.

[brothered]

[Given both his terrible hair and his paint-splattered smock, Asami, please feel free to read him for filth. He deserves it. But listen: he is a man on a mission. His lovely wife is bound to be the true star of the show, but every good painting needs, like, people milling about the background, adding Flavor—and the longer he studies this dull-haired stranger, the more certain he feels that she is just the Flavor his painting needs. She can be a nymph in the background or something... simping for his wife...

Or: Felix knows nothing about art, but he has a Vision? How dare a non-artiste attempt to detract from it! It earns her a scowl.]

What? You need them. You're hardly impressive on your own. [Rude! So rude, and yet, as he waves the bouquet about, he continues on like he said nothing insulting at all.] Without color, you'll, I don't know—disappear into the background.

[😔]

iii but its the spider-man pizza delivery music

[pegafuss]

Mhm?

[ in the time that it took for felix to turn his head and ask his question, ingrid brandl galatea, first of her name, did not merely take a slice off the platter. she has, in fact, already taken her first bite on the spot. there are chunks of meat covering so much of the dough that you may as well not bother trying to find the cheese under it. and when it comes to new foods, she is nothing but shameless.

however, she is still a lady. she chews up her piece, swallows, and with a light sniff-- ]

It's delicious. Thanks for asking.

[ n_n ]

i will forgive this cursed bg music because it's ingie

[brothered]

[A meat-zza?? This tracks—for both of them, actually, and yet, while Felix is mildly intrigued by the protein on display here, this food remains highly sus. You can't just close your eyes and wish food into existence...

Or: Felix is a (hangry) critic, and thus he scoffs, quietly, as he drops his own piece of pizza back into its box. Plop.]

I didn't. [As she well knows, but it's the principle of the matter? Flatly, then:] You really do think with your stomach.

[Ingrid!! Some things never change... and that's comforting, in a way, so let Felix just. Grab one of these napkins and silently hold it out for her to take, because ma'am, that looks greasy as hell...]