So, the cute one inside the room liked it. Edwin liked it too while Georgie was still on the fence about it. She looked to the man in the doorway and shrugged. "Why not, mate? People like that Banksy prick and I ask myself the same question."
She didn't realize the British invasion commentary had been about herself, but didn't ask for clarification. That would have taken an amount of caring she didn't have yet, so soon after waking up. Dropping her shoulders, Georgie looked at Wheelie Francis after it spoke as one does at a misbehaving pet. she was about to say something to it when the woman asked if it walked, and Georgie found she hadn't an answer. "I've never seen it walking. I don't think anyone has. But it has moved. Last time, we woke up to find it standing in the doorway-" she pointed to the man, "-where you are now but facing the hall. We had no idea how it got there, but I think they have several similar sculptures in stock, one for every occasion. And while we were theorizing how it moved, if it did, that's how it got the name Wheelie Francis. Like a wheelie bin but fancier."
Laughing she turned back to the woman only to shrug. "My room's not that far either, mate, it hasn't walked - or wheeled itself - into any of them yet."
'I can feel them crawling under my skin' it said next, in its grumbly, male voice, and Georgie's head snapped down to it. "Isn't that a lyric for some song? I feel like it is."