A clumsy plan.

The sleeves of his robe hang far past his hands, so he slides them high on his elbows before he reaches for the plate Amy offers him. The neck of the robe is so large it falls from one of his shoulders as he does. With the now oversized plate before him, he starts to realize that it's not just height that he's lost, but width too. Like driving a friends car for a short ride home, it doesn't matter that the pedals are too far or the seat too low, but now that his escape is cut off, those subtle difference are sinking in. His arms are slender, his hands are tiny, and his shoulders are narrow and frail. He no longer has the modestly heroic triangular frame he enjoyed before, but instead has the profile of a hand bell, skinny up top, with hefty hips down below. He even has something hanging down below the bell too. He blushes at the unintended metaphor, and turns his attention to the meal Amy prepared.

A bowl of wheaties, an omelette, and peeled oranges. It was a valiant effort considering the store in his pantry. He was honestly surprised Amy had even found eggs, and poked them with a fork distrustfully. As he takes one of the dry wheeties, and examines his hand. He can't help but feel like he has kids hands. Sure, they're probably normal sized hands for a smaller young woman, but for him they're tiny. His balled fist is maybe the size of an avocado, and his fingers are so much shorter than before.

He shakes his head, and plops the cereal in his mouth. He knows this already. it's not like he hasn't been in this body before... Then again. He hasn't. Not really. Not like this. He speaks up to distract himself from his thoughts.

"Thanks for breakfast." He states.

She seems relieved to hear him break the silence, and smiles deeply. Her shoulder relax as she leans against the kitchen counter, and starts munching on her own meal. "Of course. I just... Well, I felt bad after getting you into this mess."

He shakes his head, and his braids swing heavily. "It's not your fault Amy. We were both having fun."

"I shouldn't have brought the gun."

"I was the one who knocked it from your hand."

"Only because I was trying to use it to make troub..."

"Amy!" Brendan snaps, interrupting her with his sharper cry. "It's fine. I don't blame you, ok?" he offers her a small smile. "Besides, it won't help fix things, right? That's what you said. Let's keep our eyes forward."

She takes a deep breath and nods, leaving them both to eat in silence a few quiet moments. "So... Do you still have the contact info for your college friend?"

"I have his old personal email, but he disappeared after we graduated. Nobody really knew where he went. I even tried to invite him out when I passed the bar, but his cell number is a dead end. I'm honestly surprised he even sent the gun to me."

"Well, If you give me his name, I could try to track him down. Call the college you graduated from, look through some tax records or municipal reports." she lazily waves the fork through the air as she thinks. "Maybe check through old criminal records, or internet blogs for any weird goings-ons. "

Brenden nods, and replies. "I guess I can look around town to see if anyone can fix the gun."

"Whoa!" Amy cries. "By yourself?"

Brenden scrunches up his face in exasperation. "Of course, if you're busy chasing paper trails, I'm not going to sit by your side all day."

"But you're..." Amy waves her arms about uselessly and Brenden rolls his eyes.

"I'll be fine. Sheesh. Did you forget I'm 29."

"Well, you look like an 18 year old naive little teen."

"Well maybe I want to go shopping for some normal clothes, and get a haircut too."

"Brenden!"

"What?! I'm not going around with 5 foot hair on my head."

"You have bunny ears."

He flusters, and scowls. "Oh..."

"Yeah. 'oh'." She sighs. "Look I'll go shopping with you for something that fits your body once we're done, but just keep the hair for now. I promise if we can't figure something out by this evening, I'll give you a haircut."

He nods, then scowls again.

"What is it?" Amy asks.

Brenden starts running his tongue along his teeth, and picking at his braces with one finger before grumbling. "Maybe wheaties and oranges weren't the best call for breakfast."

Amy looks down bashfully, but before long both are ready to go.