<strong>Name:</strong>Edgar Crowley & Memento Mori<br/><strong>House/Year:</strong>Gryffindor/6th<br/><strong>Location: </strong>Great Hall, Gryffindor table<br/><strong>Tagging: </strong>Stevie , Katrina<br/><br/>When katrina comes over, Mori would pause in his consumption of water, and look at her hand. He leans forward, and sniffs at her a bit; he would actually rub his head against her once, which is about as close to nice as he gets, and then returns his attention to the delicious, cool, refreshing water in the bowl on the table.<br/><br/>"More of the usual. I got to fly around with Belda and Obda," the two griffins at his parents ranch; Belda was the female, Obda, the male. "Helped to teach the new litter of Crups my folks are breedin'. Just the basic commands, but it's still fun." He hums a bit, his eyes bright and cheerful, a smile on his face.<br/><br/>"Oh, and I've been practicing with this new spell. It makes Mori lion-sized. Oooh, and I tried deer hunting with him in my Lynx form. That's fun. It's actually pretty difficult to take a buck down." Wait, what? Yes, yes, he did do that. Edgar, you see, typically has a very physically active and strange summer.  He's always got an adventure or two, and it almost invariably involves one of the animals on his parents ranch.<br/><br/>When the birds come, Katrina may note, with what is likely to be no surprise at all, that the large feline companion of Edgar's becomes exceedingly hostile; he winds up wounding one of the birds, and sending it crashing down somewhere else, while the second one he goes after, he actually manages to grab ahold of. The feline would then take his catch underneath the table, to feast on it in relative peace and quiet.<br/><br/>"I think someone is screwing around. If I go cat form and start hunting them down, too, do you think they'll be mad at me?" He asked this of Stevie, quite innocently at that.  Maybe he was joking; probably not. He was just odd like that. It's especially easy to take him seriously here, considering his previous mention of hunting deer.<br/><br/>Mori, meanwhile, was quick to emerge from under the table, a bit of blood smeared around his face, and carrying a single feather with him as a trophy of sorts. Edgar winds up taking the feather from him, while the cat begins the process of licking his paw, then rubbing it against his face; of cleaning up. Being clean was important to most cats; for Mori, it was even more important; he was, after all, a superior feline! And he must look the part.<br/><br/>He looks over the feather in his hand for a while, and decides he might save it for something. Maybe an impromptu quill. But, his attention was back on Katrina for now. "What about you? Anything exciting?"