Re: dining area
She had no memory of hurt. The concept was familiar, and she feared it, so she must have known about it somehow. But she couldn't remember the actual sensation. The only thing left behind was the dislike of it, and none of the experiences. But she knew her finger didn't hurt. Whatever she associated with pain, this wasn't it. "It didn't hurt," she assured him. "It was supposed to. That's why I said ow. But it didn't hurt because I'm not real." She was poking at the stuffing that was peeking tauntingly from between the slice of velvety brown skin. "Do you have this?" she asked, sticking her finger out for him to examine the stuff inside her. Once she was real, maybe she wouldn't have fluff anymore. He didn't look like he was filled with fluff at all.
"Did it happen all at once?" she asked of his becoming real. He said it didn't hurt when he was made, but was that the same as becoming real? She didn't think so. Maybe he wasn't real at all. "Why did the hurt come later?" she asked, concern and button eyes going wider. "Nothing is supposed to hurt once you're real." Some part of her that existed before the soft pink interiors of her ears knew that was nonsense, but she wasn't going to listen to that part of her. She wanted to be real so badly. That was all she wanted. "Is that why you have all those marks?" she asked, pointing her damaged finger at his face and forgetting to cover up the hole that the fluff was trying to escape from.
A fluff of fluff fell to the floor, and she looked down at it. It was proof of everything, and she stared at it sadly. "When you're real, someone loves you, and nothing hurts ever again." She looked up. "That means it was supposed to hurt now. When you cut me, it should've hurt, unless I'm already real. This can't be real. I can't be real," she added, her tone turning despairing. "This is lonely, and real shouldn't be lonely."