[SE] 'Cause I'm on my bullshit like a matador

Used to keep it cool, used to be a fool

There has been an influx of little terrors, otherwise known as children, in his life as of late. He's reconsidering the conversation he and Flora had, when he thought he was accidentally a dad already, and wondering if it might be too late to submit his choice again with a new answer. The twins are already a lot—double the fun, when he's not in charge of them, but twice the trouble when he is. Their identicalness is problematic on the best of days and weaponized on the worst, especially if he ever misplaces one and can never be sure if he keeps finding the same one or the second one—he's tempted to bring a marker next time and secretly dot one of them somewhere only he can see.

Now though, there's only one child, but gods help him, it's Charlie's. That in and of itself is plenty, but add to that she's an ancient and  Dygra demigod, and he might as well be conducting Mission Impossible: babysitting edition. "Okay, sooooo, this is the port where all the main trading happens. We're gonna find the best flowers for you and your mom." He considers for a moment, pinching his chin as they walk, his backpack swaying behind him. "Well, second best. Uncle Mateo's are the best, but I needed to pick up some other things for dinner while we're here." And also he hoped by walking up and down the port, he'd wear her out, but that seems nearly an impossible thing with ancients if e's being honest.

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Kaisel

All about the bounce in my step

Nobody reads a mystery to get to the middle.

Having accepted his mission, Knell happily strolls alongside Special Agent Dad, oblivious to the secret objectives. She's more of an information gatherer herself, soaking in his every word while her gaze flits from one ostentatious stall to the next. There's just so much. The variety of colors and smells and wares and accents draw her attention in every direction, a million questions and theories rising from each new observation, flickering in her eyes like raindrops on a clear pond only to cascade into an infinite series of ripples that she'll never have enough time to identify. Instead, Knell keeps her mouth shut - figuratively since it's in a fixed position of awe - and absorbs as much as she can, trying desperately not to miss anything that might help her learn more about this trading hub. 

Her tail steadies her when one of the planks shifts beneath her feet, avoiding an awkward stumble when she sweeps the bustling crowds for flowers. "Why are Uncle Mateo's the best?" she asks absently, angling up on her toes when she sees a billow of oddly colored smoke. Are her eyes playing tricks on her or are they shaped funny?

Knell's red hair falls over a shoulder when she tilts her head to see around an exceptionally tall man ahead of them. "And what's for dinner?"

Knell

They read it to get to the end.

Used to keep it cool, used to be a fool

Why Mateo's flowers are the best is like asking why the sky is blue, which kids also do. "Because there's always someone who's the best," he asserts, more than happy to pass off the sage wisdom he's earned in his twenty-one years. "Usually, it's someone who devotes themselves to it, whatever it is." The moral of the story of course being that hard work pays off and practice makes perfect. If only it were so simple. He quickly realizes that truth branches off into others. "Except, sometimes people are just kinda born awesome, and so they're naturally talented at certain things." He grapples for a more relatable, grounded example. "Like the way your mom, uh... worships. She's a natural." Practiced at this point too, but that's feeling convoluted now.

"Aaaaanyway," he says, directing them around a fishmonger who's thrusting the day's catch at them like a good whiff might lighten their coin purse. "Mateo's job is plants. He grows 'em, arranges 'em, plants 'em, invents 'em. You name a thing you could do with plants, and I promise Mateo has done it, and done it better than most." The wood planks are worn smooth with all the travel atop them, and boot heels and hurried strides lay down a steady rhythm of bustle. "He found his passion, and he made the most of it."

Stopping with a hand on her shoulder near one, smaller stall, Kaisel leans down to admire the bouquets on display. He cups beneath the petals with his fingertips, and leans in closer to get a good whiff of the scent. "Maybe this. Do you like them?" She'd be the official flower approver, a very important job.

Coming back to her earlier question as he peruses another bunch, Kaisel hums in thought. "I was thinking mashed potatoes and chicken strips, with some snap peas."

Kaisel

All about the bounce in my step