Welcome to Gaia! ::

"I thought you needed it," Alphonse interjects, watching Alva cut her meat almost as deliberately as he cut his. He squints, as if ready to criticize and review her cutting, but instead keeps his mouth shut.

He watches her face for any sign of approval as she eats, neglecting his own meal if only to see her reaction. He tilts his head with a thin smile, looking like a curious bird (no doubt his nose and owlish glasses complete the look).

"Is it good?" Moreau asks, nodding his head as he carefully impales his dinner with his fork. He half-lifts it to his mouth, waiting for a response.

Again, Alphonse avoids answering her question, instead beaming proudly. "Excellent!" he chirps, then digs in himself. He eats carefully, scanning and pecking at the food with his fork, his every motion as calculated and meticulous as if he were performing surgery. Every now and then he peeks up from his dish to see what Alva is doing, but doesn't actually say anything.

It's mostly because he's at a loss as to what to say. Eating with a woman that is not his mother is a completely alien concept to him.

"So," Moreau begins awkwardly, chasing some peas around the plate with a fork and looking at Alva above the rim of his glasses, "What's... Norway like?"

The spider and the bird, it seems like that analogy could accurately sum up Alphonse and Alva's attitudes towards each other. Two predators, seeing each other as prey... although, currently, both predators seem rather content and actually docile as they pick away at their own meals instead of each other.

And the birdlike surgeon certainly does feel awkward. He mimics Alva's sipping, sucking down his drink as he listens. "Cold, yes. Lots of reindeer, too? I do not know how I could sleep like that - with the sun up constantly, or if it's always night. My rest cycle would become so backwards and I'd so easily lose track of time -- has day and night become a problem for your sleeping habits since leaving the country?"

Hmm. A reindeer would make for an interesting antherios...

And lo, did the bird get tangled in the web of awkwardness. It likely didn't take the spider much effort to get him where she wanted him.

"Ah, fascinating," he murmurs, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "I should ask one of my men to bring back a reindeer."

"I can only imagine," Alphonse nods, "I don't think I could get used to not having a consistent routine of day and night. It certainly helps me keep track of time, I know that if it's dark and I'm still in the lab, I've been working too long." He leans back in his chair and chuckles, absently swirling the wine in his goblet with a subtle wrist motion.

He feels so, so awkward. He can't think of anything else interesting to say.

"I imagine cutting off the base of the antlers could help," Alphonse says thoughtfully, "I'd have to get a good look at the skull before making any decisions. Or perhaps take a female specimen, unless those grow antlers, as well."

"This is true," Alphonse agrees -- and as much as he hated the fact that Alva was on the island, he would have to suck it up and put up with her. Plus sending her back would cost too much, and it would be very impolite... the point is, girls are smelly and Alva is a harlot and why is he letting her in his house and eat his food, again?

"I can't comment on how bizarre it is, but truthfully, before moving here I've never left England. It's going to be hard getting used to the constant bombardment of hot weather and the occasional storm, and I'll certainly miss the snow," Alphonse shrugs, then looks down at his plate to hunt and peck for more peas.

"So they do," Alphonse grunts, continuing to stare down at his plate.

"I'm certain you'll forget what even the feeling of cool is like after being here," he adds, pointing his fork at her to emphasize what he's saying. "Although if I recall, in this hemisphere, winter should be approaching soon -- during the months that you and I would consider summer in our homelands. But will we even notice? Such an island having seasons sounds almost preposterous..."

He trails off when Alva mentions altering her dress to adapt to such weather. He can easily come up with a few ideas, himself: Nudity is encouraged...

Alphonse wears a small, helpless smile. "I am certain that within a year, we will both be complaining about how cold it is once we have become accustomed to the abysmal weather here," he says absently, his mind very clearly elsewhere -- somewhere it really ought not to be.

His eyes, too. He's certainly not looking at Alva's face, not at all. He tries not to make it apparent, and even glances away and stares at the gramophone on the other side of the room for a few moments.

Damn woman, putting these wretched thoughts into his head. This is her fault! But... what could he yell at her about now? They're discussing the weather, and even Alphonse can't pick something out to complain to her about and try distracting her.