Morningside Cuesta Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens..

Have you ever — and I mean ever — made your tongue itch? Or worse, the roof of your mouth? At least with fingers you can shove a digit in there and try to put an end to it. Mink tries the boy's suggestion after a beat, perhaps because he isn't quite sure what he means but, hey, he'll give it a shot. He wedges the back of his tongue to the roof of his mouth; his eyes remain deadpan but soon he's fixated on trying different spots and his expression purses, like he's thinking deeply. Its all very dramatic.

One of the attempts is more like the thinnest of swipes and it causes some kind of reaction - this itch, which spreads to the back of his throat and no matter what he does afterwards, the need to scratch and end the feeling makes Mink nearly swallow his own tongue. He gags, his eyes rolling in search of a spitoon or maybe a stick to chew on, because what the hell else can he do? It isn't a pleasant feeling for the minute or so that it persists, and when it finally goes away on its own he realizes, too, that he has at least stopped sneezing.

A ragged breath shudders through him - and then he coughs again, but lightly this time. And again. And -- you get the picture; it starts and just wont stop, but near eruption number eleven or twelve a chunk of a partially-digested fish head (complete with its own layer of off-green mucus) drops in for a visit. Cue another awkward stare — but at least Mink is breathing better now.