Calan
Calan sits upright with a sharp inhale just as Carlo does, near enough in timing that it might've been choreographed if either of them had known what choreography was five minutes ago. His toes move against the damp boards. He stares at them, reaches down with both hands, and catches one foot before it can do anything else interesting. "So that’s how you do that." The words come out rough and strange and wonderful.
Then Carlo speaks, and Calan looks up so quickly it’s almost violent, and for a second, he just stares. Not the blurry, milk-drunk certainty of before, not the vague awareness of there you are that had followed him through blankets and cradles and the general indignity of infancy, but actual sight now. Actual recognition. Same face. Same eyes. Same expression currently spreading across both of them. Calan grins.
"Well," he says, glancing once around the docks. "That worked much better than expected." Which wasn't that impressive considering he couldn't remember actually forming the intention to combine his channelling with his twin.
Then Carlo speaks, and Calan looks up so quickly it’s almost violent, and for a second, he just stares. Not the blurry, milk-drunk certainty of before, not the vague awareness of there you are that had followed him through blankets and cradles and the general indignity of infancy, but actual sight now. Actual recognition. Same face. Same eyes. Same expression currently spreading across both of them. Calan grins.
"Well," he says, glancing once around the docks. "That worked much better than expected." Which wasn't that impressive considering he couldn't remember actually forming the intention to combine his channelling with his twin.
I've never been one to half-ass shenanigans.
