Cynril had been... very anxious actually. Thinking about what he should be doing only made him procrastinate more. Only play, only consume. Those were the only things he was up too besides not carrying a basic conversation. What was causing him to regress? What was causing him... to act like he did before and during the ball madness?
Cynril stopped his tracks again, finding another washer. It was as if he was addicted to them. Walking up what appeared to be the same path. Finding a washer on the same... spot... And not being able to refuse it, to bite and chew on it- he needed to do it. It was as if these washers were beetles and he desperately needed them.
Cynril didn't know what to do, actually, he didn't even recognize the problem nor that one existed in the first place. But it was pretty obvious if you stuck long enough, looking...
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