Bright and shiny things often derailed Sorcha's train of thought, which was never really quite on a firm set of tracks anyway, so when she caught sight of the flaming eyes of the student with the Jack-o-lantern for a head--and how
wonderful that must be, she thought, to be so
festive every day of every year--she couldn't help but stop and stare and admire.
It was--fortuitous, yes, that the student also happened to be staring at her, because she had once been told that it was rude to stare, but it
must have been okay if mutual staring was occurring. Surely that must have cancelled something out somewhere that Sorcha might have cared about if she cared about such things.
But then the moment ended and apparently it had been so special that the boil stopped to write it down, or something like that. Sorcha hadn't had the foresight to have pensnake and paper handy, but she wished, suddenly, that she had, so she could write about the time she met the boil with a pumpkin for a head and then immediately forget about it.
"Yes, hello," she said, boldly walking up to the boil. "What are you writing there? It's quite rude to stare, I hear."
