Chapter Text

"Hard is the life of the inventor," Silver muttered under her breath, "Pests decide to sleep in your workspace!"

She nudged the figure of a stout brown bird snoozing face first into their notes. The figure snored louder.

She wooshed out of frame and returned with a bucket of water. However, pouring it onto her friend did not help. She disappeared off screen again to return with a large fan, blowing air into the unconscious fiend. No luck.

"Well we gotta do what we gotta do" She sat the body upright and stuck out her tongue to lick Dahlia. As the spit trail climbed up her face her eyes flew open and she shrieked.

"What are you doing!?" She glared at Silver.

"Well other methods were not working so…"

"Enough, you!" She pointed at her, then at nothing in particular, "And you!"

"No, no, I am not pointing at nothing I'm pointing at you!"

How strange of a bird to say this.

"Pork almighty, quit screaming," Silver covered her ears with a leaf.

Dahlia stared at her with bloodshot eyes, then she looked at the wall and blinked several times.

"The thing is I saw it coming in my dream but I just didn't wake up,' She wiped saliva off her face.

Silver gathered her notes into a straight pile, "Saw what?"

"You licking m-"

"You dream about me licking you?" Silver turned abruptly

"I-I…" Dahlia groaned and gathered herself. "Don't try to be smart, dumbass falcon."

"Genuine question though…"

"Thats enough. Get out of my lab." She opened the door.

"Excuse me, this is my lab!" Silver shelved the notes.

Dahlia opened her beak to say something, then closed it and exited solemnly.

"Weird." She turned to get to work, then turned again. "Wait a minute,"

She grabbed the stack of notes from her shelf to read properly. It was puzzling why Dahlia didn't take them with her or seem to notice Silver taking them.

She looked side to side for anyone to be listening. No one was.

She reclined on a stone and began reading.

Log#911: Qualities of the Plot Hole If the metaphysical "plot" is the foundation of reality as is, the existence of the "hole" implies a tear in the fabric of...

"SILVER STOP READING THAT!" Dahlia came dashing in, feathers ruffled and eyes as crazed as they were moments ago.

Silver hid the notes behind her, "Reading what? I'm not reading anything,"

Dahlia grabbed the notes from her. "Honestly Pigsworth, mind your own damn business,"

"Don't call me that." Silver warned.

"Yeah sure thing," she said, then realized the gravity of the comment and sighed.

Silver watched as Dahlia drew a line in the ground with chalk, separating the lab in two sections.

"Good idea." She said.