Calan
Calan makes a token sound of complaint, but it is hard to make the protest properly convincing when Remi’s shoulder is warm and his own bones feel as if someone has filled them with wet sand. He turns his head just enough to smother another yawn against the side of Remi’s neck, which is unfortunate because yawning is not very adventurer-like, even if it does happen to everyone eventually and therefore should not be counted against him in any official way. From up here, the scattered glow is easier to see, slipping apart into pools and holes and bone-bright hollows as if the jungle has laid out several interesting mistakes and expects them to choose the best one.
"Yeah, we can see it," he grumbles, though his voice has gone softer than he means it to. "But how’re we supposed to get it? We don’t have your tentacles." This seems like a solvable problem almost immediately, given that Remi has enough tentacles for the purpose, and Calan is just about to suggest a temporary sharing arrangement when something changes. Not in the light, or not only in the light, but in Remi beneath him, in the way the easy strength holding them both suddenly stops feeling quite so easy.
Calan’s eyes sharpen through the sleepiness just as Remi says Ronin’s name. That is enough—not because Calan understands what is happening, exactly, but because fathers do not say each other’s names like that when things are going according to plan. Remi drops, and Calan’s hands clutch automatically at him before he is set down with clumsy care, his feet finding the damp earth a little too quickly and not quite well enough. He stumbles once, catches himself, and then turns back as Remi’s hands hit the ground and the tentacles go slack around the vines.
For a second, Calan only stares before he looks to Carlo, eyebrows lifting in an expression that says several things at once, most of them beginning with well and ending somewhere near that’s new.
Calan gets put down and stays on the path!
"Yeah, we can see it," he grumbles, though his voice has gone softer than he means it to. "But how’re we supposed to get it? We don’t have your tentacles." This seems like a solvable problem almost immediately, given that Remi has enough tentacles for the purpose, and Calan is just about to suggest a temporary sharing arrangement when something changes. Not in the light, or not only in the light, but in Remi beneath him, in the way the easy strength holding them both suddenly stops feeling quite so easy.
Calan’s eyes sharpen through the sleepiness just as Remi says Ronin’s name. That is enough—not because Calan understands what is happening, exactly, but because fathers do not say each other’s names like that when things are going according to plan. Remi drops, and Calan’s hands clutch automatically at him before he is set down with clumsy care, his feet finding the damp earth a little too quickly and not quite well enough. He stumbles once, catches himself, and then turns back as Remi’s hands hit the ground and the tentacles go slack around the vines.
For a second, Calan only stares before he looks to Carlo, eyebrows lifting in an expression that says several things at once, most of them beginning with well and ending somewhere near that’s new.
Calan gets put down and stays on the path!
I've never been one to half-ass shenanigans.
