Got the dreamer's disease
"The chocolates with the caramel in them!" The answers comes swift, thoughts of them already having been conjured to mind, and in childhood favorites is exceptionally important, so she had been sort of hoping he would ask. Although she probably would have announced it regardless. "But watermelon for gummy-type candies," she adds, because really, it is difficult to accurately compare such wildly different variants. Her cheeks scrunch a touch as she considers his crocodiles though. "Eugh, your favorite is way too sour for me. I can feel my mouth watering just thinking about it." She shakes her head sharply, as if trying to rid herself of the phantom taste. "They are cute though." Cuteness does play a factor in candy rankings.
Relieved to hear that even the ghost experts aren't completely positive where the candy goes, proof she hadn't made some sort of magnificent blunder in knowledge, she takes their suggestions into dutiful consideration. Although she's tempted to follow up the ask with another, but each question reveals how little she knows, which ventures her getting closer to ridiculously foolish, and that's the last thing she'd like to be. Instead, she settles on a truth instead of a query. "You have very interesting houses, I hope we could do a sleepover one day!" A house full of gummy worms and ghosts sounds incredible.
This naturally leads well into the topic of falling asleep and maybe even the long sleep, to which Fern's eyes widen with each truth the boys lay out. "Oooh, that is tricky. A deep sleep can almost look like death." At least, her parents have said often enough she sleeps like the dead for it to sound right. "Maybe we plan a sleepover, and that's how we get out to do the case? Are the Peepholes close by?" She is a doctor, not a geographist.
The honestly life-changing aroma of the pretzel stand causes a grumble from her lunch-time-hungry stomach, which she gasps and puts her hands over to quiet it. Calan seems to figure out well before she does that unlike all the other times she's been here with her family, there's no adult, or adult money, on hand. Something she maybe should have thought about before plunging out of a window without her mother's purse in hand. Checking pockets seems brilliant though, because money does come from there often enough. "Lemme see," Fern considers as she leans in to check her white coat. She pulls out a handful of needle caps, just the caps, and a full pill bottle. It rattles as she holds it up, trying to decipher the text written along the curve of the glass side. "It saaaays, prediction, take one before bed, drowsy." She tilts it away from her face with a scoff, clearly unimpressed with her find, the drugs in hand seemingly useless if that's the best prediction they have. "Of course you're drowsy before bed."
Relieved to hear that even the ghost experts aren't completely positive where the candy goes, proof she hadn't made some sort of magnificent blunder in knowledge, she takes their suggestions into dutiful consideration. Although she's tempted to follow up the ask with another, but each question reveals how little she knows, which ventures her getting closer to ridiculously foolish, and that's the last thing she'd like to be. Instead, she settles on a truth instead of a query. "You have very interesting houses, I hope we could do a sleepover one day!" A house full of gummy worms and ghosts sounds incredible.
This naturally leads well into the topic of falling asleep and maybe even the long sleep, to which Fern's eyes widen with each truth the boys lay out. "Oooh, that is tricky. A deep sleep can almost look like death." At least, her parents have said often enough she sleeps like the dead for it to sound right. "Maybe we plan a sleepover, and that's how we get out to do the case? Are the Peepholes close by?" She is a doctor, not a geographist.
The honestly life-changing aroma of the pretzel stand causes a grumble from her lunch-time-hungry stomach, which she gasps and puts her hands over to quiet it. Calan seems to figure out well before she does that unlike all the other times she's been here with her family, there's no adult, or adult money, on hand. Something she maybe should have thought about before plunging out of a window without her mother's purse in hand. Checking pockets seems brilliant though, because money does come from there often enough. "Lemme see," Fern considers as she leans in to check her white coat. She pulls out a handful of needle caps, just the caps, and a full pill bottle. It rattles as she holds it up, trying to decipher the text written along the curve of the glass side. "It saaaays, prediction, take one before bed, drowsy." She tilts it away from her face with a scoff, clearly unimpressed with her find, the drugs in hand seemingly useless if that's the best prediction they have. "Of course you're drowsy before bed."
Fern
This world is gonna pull through, don't give up
