"On a flat rock?" It's teasing, but the kind he thinks (hopes) Scully won't mind. Even with the X-ray in the back of his mind, he can't quite put the full picture together: skin and scale and muscle, not just the bones of a snake-woman. He finds himself picturing her far smaller than twenty feet long, gives her the pattern of the coral-snake ouroboros tattoo she pretends she doesn't have - but all along her body, face included. A snake with red hair, is basically what he's imagining.
And considering he's turned into a tree crowned with beach grass (and more roses budding at his hairline, threatening to circle his head like a crown), he can't exactly judge.
Speaking of his physical form, his fingers still bend, but they're elongated enough that they might as well remain stick-straight. A few steps away from the bench, he pauses, frowning down at their hands. "Hold on a second."
They grew with magic, albeit unconsciously, and at some point, like Pinocchio, he'll become a real boy again. There's no reason he shouldn't be able to pull them back a little, right? Detransforming, untransforming, whatever you want to call it - that's part of this process, too. Closing his eyes, he concentrates on them, on a sort of I just want my hands back demand of the universe. And after a moment or two, they're shifting, sliding through Scully's fingers and becoming more recognizably hands. No longer purely stick, only five per hand now, the leaf dropping off of his finger and drifting towards the walkway. They're not human, but they're at least what he woke up with.
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And considering he's turned into a tree crowned with beach grass (and more roses budding at his hairline, threatening to circle his head like a crown), he can't exactly judge.
Speaking of his physical form, his fingers still bend, but they're elongated enough that they might as well remain stick-straight. A few steps away from the bench, he pauses, frowning down at their hands. "Hold on a second."
They grew with magic, albeit unconsciously, and at some point, like Pinocchio, he'll become a real boy again. There's no reason he shouldn't be able to pull them back a little, right? Detransforming, untransforming, whatever you want to call it - that's part of this process, too. Closing his eyes, he concentrates on them, on a sort of I just want my hands back demand of the universe. And after a moment or two, they're shifting, sliding through Scully's fingers and becoming more recognizably hands. No longer purely stick, only five per hand now, the leaf dropping off of his finger and drifting towards the walkway. They're not human, but they're at least what he woke up with.