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He took the pin with a trembling hand, holding it gingerly like a precious thing before carefully attaching it proudly to his vest. He glanced away when the Plague Doctor motioned to the lavender emblem on his lapel, and the hunchback's eyes narrowed. She had not marked him? Why? His confusion showed on his face, brows scrunched again as it glanced from the pin to Malodore's face and back again.

Christof debated his options. You shouldn't ask questions, Master- or Mistress- knew best. But... but... the part of him that had been sparked alive by the kelpie's half hazard lessons, that made the stump that was left of his tongue burn and tingle to feel those urges again made him- timidly- point to Mal's button from Riley and then - gingerly - part the collar of his shirt to show the red lines and healing scratches.

He shook his head, clearly chickening out of his question as he lifted a hand to deny the card. Fumbling now, he reached to heft up the cage again and bowed shortly before gesturing with his chin towards his dorm room.

Riley hadn't done anything TO him.

She had done it for him.

It wasn't any of his business where Malodore lay in the hierarchy. He respected it too much to want to kindle the sort of feelings he got whenever he spied Riley and Jericho walking back from class together from his secure location in the bushes.

He had a Device to deliver and Parts to go over, and generally, things were looking better. Master Fell was right, tampering with his repairs only made things too complicated to cope with. Leaving the Plague Doctor with that, the Igor hurried down the steps towards Amrita's dorm.

The doorknob Riley had torn from the wood was still ajar, the thing kept shut with a brick for now, obtained from who knew where. On the other side of the door, Scruff whined and scratched at the smell of another animal on the other side. It was a good thing Calder had picked up a hair, his bed put back in place but the mirror in the bathroom was still covered in it's shirt, visible through the ajar door.

It was a modest room, just it and then the bathroom and closet, littered with body parts, his shovel, and lit by the flickering bombs. Judging by the gnarled and scattered hands and feet, Scruff had gotten impatient with his Master's recent floaty demeanor. His workbench was still tidied, the various young lady parts lined up beside the row of half-skinned heads as though waiting for selection. The Igor had been thorough, each section of parts carefully accounted for with the best he could find in the graveyard, waiting for Malodore's careful stitches and Riley's mental prowess with Amrita to make her a real Ghoul.

His collage of photos of girls still lay around the trashcan, untouched save for Calder's earlier exploration.

It didn't take long for the hunchback to catch up, red faced and panting as he trotted in the door, immediately rushing to tidy the blankets on his bed and shove a few more things under it with his foot before crossing to the workbench, immediately holding out a head for Malodore's perusal, eagerly.

Oh hell oh hell it was in his room! His heart was racing, but the button on his vest seemed to give him comfort.

He nodded, shifting from foot to foot as though awaiting a critique before he remembered something and quickly moved to shove a pile of hands aside for a cigar box. Offering out to him it seemed to be... a sample kit. Swatches of skin carefully arranged like fabric samples, a handful of eyes of various color tucked neatly to the side like marbles. It would be easier to get Amrita's opinion without having to cart her over for everything, right? He offered it to the plague doctor with a bowed head, as though presenting a valuable gift.

The hunchback practically sparkled at the compliment, beaming up at the skeletal creature with a glassy sort of pride. So he'd keep the parts here until she needed them, that was alright. He'd have to organize better, though, he'd need the workbench back eventually. Maybe Barth had a shelving unit buried somewhere- but a shelving unit would probably do better good back at the Sloth's place. Spare wood at least... he'd have to think on it. At least he had a direction, and he reveled in the sensation.

There was no I in Igor. Alright, so there was, but there was no Me in it in any case. If his Master wished to use his room as a store room, it would be so.

Hopefully the sample box would help Amrita out even more. This all was about her... how could she not feel like a Queen? All of his marks and contracts at this point revolved around her. Hopefully she would eventually come to appreciate that.