Calan
"I can’t wait to find out," Calan murmurs, eyes briefly going unfocused with the future shape of the pretzel already forming in his mind. Big, warm, probably salted, possibly magical if Fern’s advertising voice is anything to go by. His mouth starts watering at once, which feels reasonable, given that getting a pretzel had been the whole point of the plan before it became window fraud and bird management.
Aa Fern disappears, Calan stares blankly at the osprey now occupying her place in the window, his expression going very still while his thoughts shuffle themselves into a new order. Fern is a girl. Fern is also a bird. Fern ha(s)(d) scissors and also maybe a medical degree. Most importantly, Fern knows where the pretzels are. Luckily, Carlo sounds very professional about helping her down, so Calan makes his own face arrange itself into something equally businesslike. "Be with you shortly," he calls up, as if the delay is standard procedure and not because he is halfway up his brother with a Hel sitting on him like a strange mascot.
Getting down is not graceful, but it is effective. Calan shimmies carefully down Carlo’s body, one hand grabbing the crate, the other catching at Carlo’s shoulder, his feet searching until they find the ground again. The Hel rides the whole way down on his shoulder, claws tucked in, looking extremely pleased with the promotion from nuisance to staff member.
Once he is beside Carlo again, Calan lifts his arms and lays them across his brother’s at perpendicular angles, making the best net two boys can make without rope, practice, or any understanding of how to catch a falling bird-girl. He looks up at Fern with a bright, steady confidence that has survived every previous part of the plan and has no intention of stopping now. "When you’re ready," he says, nodding firmly. "We do this all the time."
Aa Fern disappears, Calan stares blankly at the osprey now occupying her place in the window, his expression going very still while his thoughts shuffle themselves into a new order. Fern is a girl. Fern is also a bird. Fern ha(s)(d) scissors and also maybe a medical degree. Most importantly, Fern knows where the pretzels are. Luckily, Carlo sounds very professional about helping her down, so Calan makes his own face arrange itself into something equally businesslike. "Be with you shortly," he calls up, as if the delay is standard procedure and not because he is halfway up his brother with a Hel sitting on him like a strange mascot.
Getting down is not graceful, but it is effective. Calan shimmies carefully down Carlo’s body, one hand grabbing the crate, the other catching at Carlo’s shoulder, his feet searching until they find the ground again. The Hel rides the whole way down on his shoulder, claws tucked in, looking extremely pleased with the promotion from nuisance to staff member.
Once he is beside Carlo again, Calan lifts his arms and lays them across his brother’s at perpendicular angles, making the best net two boys can make without rope, practice, or any understanding of how to catch a falling bird-girl. He looks up at Fern with a bright, steady confidence that has survived every previous part of the plan and has no intention of stopping now. "When you’re ready," he says, nodding firmly. "We do this all the time."
I've never been one to half-ass shenanigans.
