"Boring ones, Stoker, trust me," he says like he's an authority on the subject. He doesn't move to get out of her way. Letting her brush up against him. Working to stifle a smirk. "Real drab colors. Don't last at all. Bad for note taking."

He searches the shelf with his eyes briefly, gaze settling on a particularly ridiculous-looking quill - long plumed and colorful - that probably isn't meant to be picked up and played with. He picks it up, anyway, and waves it around in Rosy's general direction. "But worth looking at, I guess."