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The hunchback wobbled, concentrating on his breathing as the two hissed back and forth, all projecting and theorizing and yelling and gesticulating and his head was spinning and somehow he wobbled back to his feet and managed to pull away from their prying eyes. "I'm.... jutht... not thuppothed to... I'm not..." He choked. He just wanted to go to the dance with his friends and have a nice time, and maybe he and Barth would hook up with nice succubi and he could show them his strappy chair and he didn't really want them to know he had a rotting mouth and that the Doctor would have been very cross with him that was for sure- "When...." He hesitated, mind swimming from the words. He knew the answers to their questions, he knew the pertinent information that would make it all come together but.. but they weren't really there. Reflections of ideas or something abstract that shouldn't be abstract- "I... need to thit down."

His mouth felt like it was on fire.

What was Mister Calder talking about? He never felt more right than when he was being told what to do... when he veered from his usual regime... things like this happened. That much, he could remember.

But something else, residue in his psyche aggravated by his time with the Kelpie, perhaps, was starting to come back to his cognition, and it terrified him.

Despite his declaration, Christof had not moved, simply stuck in place as though still terrified of her rejection, a beating at least would mean she wanted to keep him in her service.

What should I do, Mistress?

The lack of a answer worried him, and he was left stunned, loosening his hold till the Igor slipped from his hands. He simple stared at him, wondering. When Riley piped in, he only looked up at her, and then the fight beaten out of him, nodded. He needed something else to do, and getting out of the room for a little bit felt best.

Like a beaten dog, he talked past her, moving into the room she directed him to and shut the door. Not for privacy. He could undress in front of a crowd, but because he needed a breather. Riley had been right that she bought him clothes. There were various tops, and several colored kilts. Green, blue, black, white, and even a hideous pink that made him crack a weak smile at Riley's attempt at a jab. Maybe she would have used it as a threat if things hadn't gone the way they did.

Sighing, he flopped down to sit on the ground, and laid his head on the bed a moment, thinking. Dressing up was not on his list of comforting things to do right now, but he didn't have the energy to fight anymore. If he couldn't comfort Christof, he could at least make him happy following Riley's orders. It was the only thing Calder knew that made the Igor happy.

Reaching up, he started to undress.

As soon as Calder disappeared, Riley rounded on Christof. Her eyes had turned red once more - twice in a row? This couldn't be good.

As for you. She seethed. I lied. I WILL tell you what to do. You need to go get dressed for the dance, as well. I won't have either of you slumping around my dorm while I'm gone, so I need you both ready for your dates. Let her know to meet you here - because I'm not going to let you out of my sight.

She crossed her arms, glaring down at him. And the next time something important like this happens to you, Christof... She bent down slowly, until her face was inches away from his. It was the face of fury incarnate.

I had better hear about it first.

... WHY ARE YOU STILL SITTING HERE GO GET DRESSED.

He sat on the bed, adjusting the collar about his neck before buttoning the ends of his cuffs. A pair of polished skull cuffs stared back at him. The top was elegant, a sign of taste and seeds on Riley's account, of monotone black with a Victorian flare. To match, he wore the black kilt with gray pinstriping. Typically one would wear your own plaid, but these sort of occasions didn't need him to be official, and he wasn't about to start on Riley when she had actually bothered to get the kilts instead of pants. He could have worn them, but this was better.

With a heavy sigh, he bended down, setting his face in his hands and closing is hands. It had been ages since he bothered dressing up for an occasion that hadn't been a clan meeting, and he wasn't confident in the least about making any appearance where his hair wouldn't be a mess and his clothes would look as if they were picked out of the trash. In fact, his father would probably be proud right now.

It had been at the woven seamstresses house. While living in the middle of nowhere, his family had good connections with her. They gave her herbs and fish, and she would make the clothes. His father had always remained elegant in his attire, and his mother stunning in simple garbs. Since he was young, he would get his clothes there. Fitted to the point she knew his sizes without taking out the tape. The seamstress enjoyed it, his father liked taking him there to spend time together, and he had actually been fond of the outing. Then he just never wanted to step foot in a place like that again. He knew it tore is father up when he yelled at him, and while he never stepped foot in her house again, his father still brought the clothes the seamstress made each year, and they would be left in his trunk. He knew both of them wished he'd dress better once again. Kelpies looked good. There were supposed to look that way.

He breathed out and opened his eyes, rising up and slipping off his scarf. Holding it in his arms, he then pressed his fingers into the fabric and, ocne finding it, pulled out a long, white chain from inside. It was long, and after it was out of the scarf, he set the cloth aside and tired the necklace about his neck, wrapping it around 3 times and hiding it from view under the collar of his shirt.

The door to Riley'd bedroom opened and he stepped in, a 50% improvement from before. There was still the matter of his hair though. Looking over, he noticed Christof starting at his pile of recently bought clothes and tentatively, as if he wasn't sure he was even allowed near the boil, he looked down. "So you're going to wear that?" He gestured with his hoof at the leather jacket.

He breathed out, and slowly moved closer, kneeling down beside the Igor. Not talking to him? I guess he deserved it, or maybe he was hurting. Who knew, and it wasn't like he was going to be told. Still, this was a dance, right? Probably a first for Christof. It would have been a shame if he ruined this too.

Leaning over, he picked up the jacket and looked at him. "You need to pick a shirt to wear under it." He said, reaching over and grabbing the two shirts he saw and setting them in front of Christof. He was going to make it simple. Just pointing. Then Christof could get dressed. "Okay, the sweater or the dress shirt." He said. "You pick." He set the leather jacket down so that Christof could see it beside the two options. It was how he learned to pick clothes when he was small.

It was back to that old song and dance again. It was getting old, but it was always Christof's cheaif concern. His main master. The unseen force that made the Igor terrified of any action that wasn't a barked command. Well, if Christof was going to get to the dance and have fun, they had to move past this little hurdle.

"The dress shirt would look good for a dance. Wear that." He said, a soft suggestion or gentle command.

The Igor was still a mess, and frowning, he reached over and took the needle from him. "Well your master isn't going to like you missing an eye either." He placed the needle down and tried to catch the patchwork's eye, tilting his head over into the blonde's field of vision. "RIley is a mistress. So....she knows what owners think like. She wants you to go to the dance. That must mean it's okay. You also have a obligation to go with that ghoul you asked you. You can't break that. Now...the proper thing to do is dress up to see her since that's what a proper Igor would do for her. It's what you should do." These were all the terms he either heard the Igor use or he found by being with him. He hoped it work. He hoped that Christof had fun tonight.