[ Of course he doesn't look somewhat delighted at the obvious display of distaste. Heaven forbid! It's just that Norton is simply so adorable, especially when he scratches back like an irritable cat being picked up by it's owner.

And tempting fate, indeed. Ash's fingers curl around the cover of a book, although he gives notable, nearly dramatic pause, before finally deigning to look back down at his fussy protégé. ]

What a task, indeed, when you're so enamored with your own studies. [ He taps the book on the edge of his masked chin, the hollow noise of the porcelain ringing faintly. ] But if you've decided to reach out from the goodness of your heart, who am I to refuse?

[ Then the silence rings for a moment, as his eyes narrow to slits. ]

A curse is a curse, but when it spreads like an illness, you must treat it like an illness. How do you think plagues start, my dear Norton? [ His voice is a contemplative hum, like he's thinking of the answer himself. ] A sheer fault of nature? An unfortunate accident? Perhaps...even on purpose, by someone's hand?

[ Then the book cover flips over, thin and on worn paper, with the words A History of Magical Ailments. ]

Regardless of the source, one thing remains clear with all such things; it has to start somewhere.