Welcome to Gaia! ::

Christof merely nodded, eyes still narrowed as he put the thread in his vest pocket before picking up the tool box and bundles of paper and walking towards the door, holding it open for the other patchwork expectantly. Where ever he intended on going, it involved showing Moure out the door first.

Once safely lead outside of his cluttered room, Christof was struck, for the first time, by the sudden urge to lock his door. Another patchwork just next door? Any time he left, his Collection was in danger of being pilfered. The crazed Hunchback had spent long, late nights scouring the areas around the school for what graveyards he could spot, pilfering where there were less guards and dogs. And then there were the devices...

He'd have to bring Firth back here and hope he stayed and guarded the place. Hell's Bell's.

He stared at Moure's door as the boil motioned to it and his wheels churned, a long while as he mulled things over. Finally, he set his toolbox and scrolls down, flipping it open for a hammer and a fist full of nails, hastily pounding several in the way of the door jam, wedging the door firmly in place.

He put the hammer away, hefting his things again before turning to give Moure a polite bow like only an Igor could manage.

That made Christof freeze mid-bow, glancing up from his eternal-slouch with a puzzled expression before slowly shaking his head. There had been that ghoul he had met briefly in the Fitness Booth during Open House, but she had been of fabric. A totally different animal.

Sure Dr. Fell had... others... who he had created or worked for him, but they weren't... well... conventional.

And he had never spoken to them much.

He hadn't spoken with many people, really.

Christof's eyes narrowed, his face going red. Who... who did this guy think he was? He was making ASSUMPTIONS about things he had not said! Was... was he psychic? Of course he had not said them. He didn't say anything. He had nodded, he had been polite and helped him, and he had shaken his head, and he had locked his door before going out. He was fairly certain everything else had been, well, tight lipped.

This Runner did not know what he had been taught. The Igor took his job very seriously. Very Seriously. It was his... everything. It was what held reality together. It was instinct, it was what kept the sky up and the ground down and made things make sense. Whatever it was Moure was spouting about Patchworks Helping Each other, so be it, but whatever a Runner was, it was NOT an Igor. It did not know The Laws.

His nostrils flared.

He knew the laws. He knew them intimately. Whoever this Cphira was.... clearly, she did not Do It Right. If he needed help, then he clearly was a faulty Igor. You complete the Task at Hand. Patchworks might be Patchworks, there were tons of them, all shapes and sizes, he knew that, he had read about them, he had been told about them, but they were not *Igors*.

His grip on his toolbox tightened. This Moure must really think he was stupid if he thought he'd believe any of what he was spouting. It just didn't Make Sense. Clearly this sparkling, specialized, handsome, know-it-all of a not-Igor might have 'Good Parts' as he had put it but his brain was faulty. He should turn it in for a new one. His face had gone carefully blank as he shook his head, hefting up his things under his arms to lurch down the hall and away from him.