Celandine is drawing. She's discovered she has a talent for it. At the moment, she's drawing one of her feathers (apparently she's molting).

She's sitting at Matteo's table, drawing in printer paper in pen, her hair in a ponytail. For all appearances, she's content with the world.

The quiet clicking of Matteo's hooves announces his presence. He leans over her shoulder to see what she's up to.

In his usual soft, timid voice, he begins, "What are you drawi- oh. Gosh. You're good at that... It even looks real."
Praising her drawing skills is not the reason he came to the kitchen, but his real motive can be put aside for a moment while he marvels.

"Thanks. I like doing it. It feels... real."

Unlike her self. She feels empty, somehow, like she's only half-there.

She tries to ignore that.

He gives her a pat on the shoulder in passing, stepping around her and pulling up the other chair.

"Listen,.. I think it would be a good idea if we went for a - a little walk. You might see something you recognize..." Matteo explains, with a hint of hopefulness. "It could help jog your memory, maybe. What do you think...? Want to give it a try?"

She nods.

"That makes sense."

Pause.

"Should I wear something..." to cover the wings.

The wings are kindof large, you see, even if they aren't fullgrown.

Matteo nods emphatically.

"Yes. Definitely."

Not that that he needs to, but sometimes he wears his own coat around the house, simply because he finds it comforting to know that he can conceal his, er, non-human-ness with relative ease.

She blinks at his veimence.

"Okay... what?"

Should she wear, that is. She doesn't exactly have a large wardrobe.

"Oh,... uh..." Frown. "Hm. Just a second."

He wanders out of the kitchen. There's the sound of a closet door opening, the rustling of fabric, and then he trots back into the room. He holds out a normal-sized ski jacket sort of thing (which he wears just about as often as he wears pants - meaning, at most once a month).

"Here,... will this do?"

"Yes. That'll work."

She slips into it, with the flexibility of youth.

And I suppose they go out and walk around?

They do.

Matteo, not having any idea where to start, begins leading her down random streets,sometimes crossng the same ones twice. He doesn't have any idea where he's going, though he does know where he is.

He's just turned a corner when something very interesting catches his eye. A mural.
How nice.

Pause.

"That's mine."

Fascinated, she traces the curl of one of the feathers, the line of the edge of a letter, the patterning of fabric of the outfit of one of the figures.

Mesmerized by her past, she continues to run delicate fingers along painted brick, noting techniques she doesn't remember learning, colors she remembers in theory but doesn't remember mixing. Faces she remembers as collections of characteristics - cheekbones and skin tone and eye color and lips, but with no memory of the people she based them upon.

"Yours? You mean..."

Matteo turns to stare at the mural, to look it over.

"Really?...How can you tell - you remember it?"

His gaze slips from the mural to the girl standing in front of it. This was what they were out for, right? To find things she could remember. And if this was familiar to her, all the better.

"I know exactly how to make something like this. This is how I draw. And that," she nods towards the tagline, Things Are Better With Wings, "Is something I'd say. I think."

It should be clarified that while her amnesia is classic, it does not go away as classic amnesia does. Magic went into her head and wiped it clean.

She still has personality and talent and skill, but memory is gone.

And it isn't coming back.

"Oh. So you know, a-... about it, but not making it, then... I can see how it's yours, though. Looks like what you were drawing before."

The faun knows very little about amnesia, other than you hit your head and then forget things. He doesn't even know if this much is true, because Cela didn't seem to have hit her head on anything.

He paces back and forth in front of the mural, looking for a signature or something like it, but not really expecting to find one.

"That's how amnesia works, mostly. You forget how you learned things, but you remember the things you learned."

This is something she learned.

"It normally doesn't last more than a few days before you start remembering things again, though...."

Which doesn't make sense.

"I didn't know that."

He feels guilty for not knowing that. He thinks he ought to know more, because then he'd be better able to help her.
Unfortunately, he also thinks that he is incurably dull (as in stupid) and probably couldn't understand it anyway.

"...Then it shouldn't be long, right, before you start remembering...?"

"I don't know. This is...."

She trails off.

"This doesn't seem to be... natural. I didn't hit my head on something, I think. I just... forgot."

Cela shrugs.

"Either way, I should keep trying. I don't want to bother you for too long."

"You're no bother," he insists, attempting to be reassuring and failing miserably, "But, yes, do keep trying..."

Matteo slumps a little, slipping his hands into his coat pockets and fidgeting with a cellophane wrapper his fingers find inside.

"I'm sure we'll figure out who you belong to sooner or later. Preferably sooner, for your sake."

"Hope so."

Sigh.

She's just a kid, y'know?

"It's cold out."

Can we go, for lack of a better word, home now?

Matteo nods.

"Yeah, it is..."

A forced smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"C'mon then." He beckons to her, and starts walking. "...I don't think we'll find anything else."

She nods silently and follows, subdued.

She isn't the most happy of children, is Cela.