Calan
Calan shoves the last of his burrito into his mouth because both hands are needed now, one for waving and one for not losing the slicker currently trying to trip him. The flat dark boy stuck to his feet waves too, stretched strangely over the sand in a way Calan notices with immediate approval.
He follows Carlo up the shore, yellow slicker dragging and bare feet slipping where the sand changes beneath him, and when his brother’s hand reaches back, Calan grabs it without needing to think. The pull up onto the short pier is awkward but successful, which makes it one more thing they can do now. He lands beside Carlo with his hood half over one eye, rice stuck near his mouth, and the important air of someone arriving from a very difficult expedition rather than from the docks.
"We are big," he agrees at once. Then he looks up at Remi and Ronin properly, bright-eyed and pleased, and adds, "We were tired of you not understanding us too," as if this is not only reasonable but generous of them to explain after all the trouble everyone has clearly gone to. His bare toes curl against the pier, and he glances briefly at Carlo before looking back again, confidence settling over him as neatly as the too-large yellow slicker absolutely does not. "And also," Calan says, with the seriousness of someone presenting the final and strongest argument, "we were getting tired of eating the same thing almost every day."
He follows Carlo up the shore, yellow slicker dragging and bare feet slipping where the sand changes beneath him, and when his brother’s hand reaches back, Calan grabs it without needing to think. The pull up onto the short pier is awkward but successful, which makes it one more thing they can do now. He lands beside Carlo with his hood half over one eye, rice stuck near his mouth, and the important air of someone arriving from a very difficult expedition rather than from the docks.
"We are big," he agrees at once. Then he looks up at Remi and Ronin properly, bright-eyed and pleased, and adds, "We were tired of you not understanding us too," as if this is not only reasonable but generous of them to explain after all the trouble everyone has clearly gone to. His bare toes curl against the pier, and he glances briefly at Carlo before looking back again, confidence settling over him as neatly as the too-large yellow slicker absolutely does not. "And also," Calan says, with the seriousness of someone presenting the final and strongest argument, "we were getting tired of eating the same thing almost every day."
I've never been one to half-ass shenanigans.
