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ᴍᴏʀᴘʜᴇᴜꜱ (beautifulhavoc) wrote in madisonvalley,

Fortunately for Gar, Morpheus’ many talents did not include mind reading. Still, Morpheus wasn’t naive enough to assume that a bird of such unusual plumage couldn’t understand him. Creatures like that didn’t simply exist without purpose. And besides, he hailed from Wonderland, where the impossible was ordinary and the extraordinary routine. “Strange” and “unusual” were practically the national anthem. Expecting the unexpected was more than habit—it was survival instinct. If he hadn’t learned that lesson early on, he’d have been devoured, twisted, or turned into a tea kettle by now.

“I suppose it was too much to hope you could talk. Hold a conversation, maybe. Not that I mind.” He exhaled, casting a glance toward the other people on the street. “This place is too bloody loud most of the time anyway.”

He didn’t mind noise in and of itself—he thrived on chaos, so long as it had rhythm. Wonderland was loud, yes, but its clamor had cadence. Even madness, when it spoke, did so with meaning, with riddles nested in riddles. Here, though, people talked just to fill the air, their words floating like discarded wrappers, fluttering uselessly down grey streets. There was no music in it. No wonder the silence of the bird felt more like company than the voices of the passersby.