[ he has a laundry list of behaviors that are considered "unacceptable" in the house.

prancing about on his hooves is one of them, but the tile is unkind so he seldom does that anymore.

tracking mud in the house, bringing in animals from outside, leaving pressed flowers in percival's folios and books. these are are mild offenses, ones that tegan toes the line of, acts out on, does anyways because it is simply in his nature.

but today, he decides that perhaps he'll err on the side of good behavior. what possesses him to do so is really a mystery, but here he is, clinging to the door frame on two slender, long legs, realizing now that the tile is very cold underneath the pads of his toes as he leans in against the wooden door and peers into percival's study. it's a grand thing, books lining the shelves, an enormous window that sheds beautiful daylight during the early hours. however, it is late and only the moon is high, casting a brilliant glow that intermingles, silver on the gold sconce lighting against the walls.

percival is going through some kind of paperwork--tegan will never understand it, but he's through with his own studies and rather bored.

he clears his throat. loudly. look at me. ]