His words taper off somewhere, an unintelligible mess. It was sometimes uncertain who exactly Weir was talking to. Himself, another, perhaps just to anyone and no one at all. That also, was just as likely. Her words filter in through his auds, questions of what he was exactly talking about? ”Ah yes, the Pseudemys concinna conicca. Also known as, the Eastern river cooter. Lovely creature, as far as turtles go. Not to be confused with the yellow-bellied slider. Trachemys scripta scripta. Why they can reach a full 16 inches in length, but I have yet seen one that large.” He says with a chuckle, perhaps something about that was funny. Maybe he had made a joke of some sort? Turtles were a fascinating subject, any subject really. A walking, talking encyclopedia. That was Weir, and Weir was that.
“My lady, I would never be so presumptions to expect you to name them all.” he returned rather seriously. A very certain look in his amber orbs. There were literally hundreds of different types of turtles, he was unsure that even he could name them all. Well, perhaps if he really sat down to it he could. That was not today though. Today he was off to the see the river. A lovely guide, and a warm sun on his back. No today was not a day for listing turtles, he decided.
She asked after him about animals. Surely he did study animals. He studied everything, anything at all. ”Why yes, I do study them. I take time to study all things. Knowledge is power you know? It also is very handy for a gentleman of my finicky trait persuasion. Rather useful to know a lot, about a lot. Never know when you might need it.” he said brightly. Settling into her gentle stride, with no signs of being in a hurry, his head following each step. A gently sway. Up down up down up down. They had the afternoon. They had the week even, if it took that. You could not rush things with Weir.
