Snippet #1495295

Earth captives; what did she even mean? Atticus pondered her strange choice of words as he stood towering above her, hand held poised as an erect flag pole—unwavering, and steady. She looked different. Never had he seen someone with such green hair. It reminded him of the green valleys he was used to walking, but a few shades brighter. As much as he'd like to deny it, he had the urge to touch a few strands of hair to make sure it was real. A foolish thought, quickly dismissed. She seemed to consider him, tilting her head and staring at his paw. What she was thinking, the great beast could not know. Social endeavours left him with little to be desired, and more or less confused.

When Zin took his hand, Atticus smiled softly. Or it might've looked like he smiled. A small tug of his black chops was all, and then his mouth eased into its' normal brooding expression. “Zin of planet Gluct,” He repeated, nodding his head and releasing her dainty fingers. “Ah... that is what you meant. I am from Earth—though I am no captive, I am free.” His dark eyes watched her with an unbidden curiosity, completely unabashed that he was staring. It would take him ample time to understand what was rude, though he believed that Zin's structure was different. She wasn't an earth-dweller. Atticus wasn't sure what to call her, so he decided it would be best to name her “lady-of-the-moon.” With Zin's explanation of her glowing hair, he rested his paw against his muzzle and laughed quietly; a rumbling noise that sounded more like rainfall than laughter. “No, apologies are mine. I didn't hear you coming.” He liked the sound of her laugh. The beast eyed her, and added, “Ah! Lady of the Moon, you are my roommate... I believe.”

Atticus snuffled; his black nose twitching with the oncoming new scent. Human—or something like it—caught his nose, probably because it was the most familiar. However, he couldn't seem to track where it was coming from. He looked past Zin towards the buildings and found nothing. There were too many abnormal, unfamiliar scents; foods, pollution, plastics, unnatural scents. Dismissing his stunted senses, Atticus looked back at Zin. He didn't exactly want to admit that he had no idea what he should be doing, but he saw little choice in the matter. "Classes," He began, his eyebrows knitting. "What should we be doing?"