Despite having once been a construct, the Scarecrow found after only a few minutes of being left alone at a table with colorful string, some sticks, and instructions to make something in order to practice his hand coordination that he wasn't very good at putting things together himself. He drummed his hands on the table idly, not sure what he was supposed to do with either the sticks or the wad of knotted string. Waiting until the nurse had left the room, he pulled a piece of paper from a pile on another table, simultaneously nabbing what seemed to be a thicker version of the pens that came with the patient journals.

Now what was it he was going to draw? The Scarecrow tapped the pen to the paper, thinking a moment before drawing a figure- a girl in a dress, dog in hand. It certainly didn't have much of a likeness to the actual Dorothy, but it would do. He worked on the Tin Man next, putting his axe in his hand, careful to include his oil can in case the drawing should rust like the original. Lion appeared after that, ribbon in his mane, medal affixed to his front as a sign of his new-found bravery. He added himself last, crows flying around his shoulders, his doctorate in Thinkology in his gloved hand.

The Scarecrow sighed, biting his lip. He sure did find himself homesick an awful lot, even with all the wonderful experiences his human body gave him.

Leaning on his hand, he glanced around the room, watching the other tables as people filed in. He had a lot on his mind: the Wizard Landel's deception, Dorothy all alone, people not believing in Oz because of the movie, the man in said movie who shared his face and body, whether or not he enjoyed being human to the point of- no, it was too much to consider at the moment. He could think until he'd thought a hole in the ground, and it wouldn't do him any good without brains. What he needed was a way to get his brains back, or find some that would work temporarily... but where?

[Agatha]