“Okay, so when you were a freshman, all Ethro had you do was a research project on some of the important sorcerers in history?” A curious bleat ending in a lilt escaped from Lucibelle's lips. Her legs folded over another as the sheep lay on her hip, one palm supporting her like a column. It was only after a few moments that she mustered the ability to lift her head—painfully tear her gaze from her book—and make eye contact.
What met her was a curious giggle, of all things. “What do you mean 'all'? That was hard!” The leopardess allowed a roll of her shoulders, but solicited no more sass from her study buddy. “Nowadays, the mage's college knows better than to expect a lot of all their first-year students, so you're stuck with... what? Writing an essay on the fundamentals of magic's behavior? First-grade, Luci.”
“Yeah okay,” Lucibelle bleated in derision, sticking her nose high in the air. Her eyes fell to the leopardess' fur, noting its pallid sheen—an unnatural quality not unlike her own fleece. “You look... lighter? Than I remember? I think that's the word I want to use...”
Lucibelle shuffled quietly. Her arm supporting her had shifted a few inches, tiny keratinous fingers clutching the carpet's fibers. Her gaze fell away from Tali, lidded and tired. She needed no watch to know that she had stood up far too late.
A quiet mew of uncertainty escaped Tali's thin lips, at which point she marveled unsurprised at her unfurled palms, padded, puffy, and small as they were. “Oh... huh.” She remarked internally; all sorts of explanations immediately jumped to her head. She could not be sure which the truest, but the one that made the most sense was proximal to her own personal belief. “You are a practitioner of the icy arts, you know. It's a style of spellplay foreign even to me, and to Ethro. It's difficult to say, but if their use is the reason you're so... well, pale, then maybe your presence does the same to me after a while? I remember my hands looking white after our last study session, when we only stood up til eleven. Maybe that's...?”
Tali interrupted herself, for her audience was no more. Collapsed against the softness of her teal gown, the sheep's head lay still upon Tali's lap, ears flicking, lips fluttering in a torn decisions between mumbling and breathing. The feline's eyes widened—it was all the leopardess could do not to simply squeal and mew about how freaking adorable she was.
Hah! She had concrete, irrefutable proof that Luci was the cuter one now! Oh boy, would she give her a hard time tomorrow.
But now? Now, perhaps Lucibelle had the right idea. It was time to rest. One hand fell to the sheep's supple cheek and stroked her fine fleece, a substance softer than any snow. She slowly unfurled her exposed legs, at just a pace that would—hopefully—not stir her awake.