[It's very strange to him; he crouches to get a better look, since the serrated appendages he has in place of forearms aren't exactly ideal for picking up bits of paper and examining them. Somewhere, a human, adult body with long, deft fingers is fast asleep, but the soul itself is so horribly awkward, so horribly different and clumsy...

Well. Someone drew Heather wrong, that's just all there is to it. He squints, trying to see past the misplaced benevolence and serenity to a face he knows he knows. He's so intensely focused on the poster that he forgets his wariness for a moment, foolishly dropping his guard.]