'cause dirt on you is dirt on me, and we both know our hands ain't clean
"Ohhhhhhh," Calan says, the sound stretching out as understanding dawns with all the solemn importance of a trade secret being passed down. "I thought you kept the peels in your mouth so it garbled up your words, and then swallowed for the sick." This is said without embarrassment, because Calan sees no shame in having attempted the advanced version by mistake. If anything, it means he has suffered more thoroughly for the craft than strictly required, which ought to count for something. He files Finch’s correction away immediately, already imagining how much better the next rotten-meat collapse will be when his mouth isn’t full of peel and regret.
When Finch offers his name and hand, Calan is just as prompt as Carlo, wiping his sticky fingers against his shirt before presenting his palm with all the grave professionalism of a boy entering into serious business. His grip is small, firm, and slightly orange-scented, his chin tipping up as he looks Finch over in return. "Well, yeah," he says when Finch tries to make sense of how recently walking had come into the matter. He meets the scrutiny without so much as a blink, because none of this is confusing to him and adults really do waste a lot of time getting stuck on the easy bits. "We got tired of not being understood or being able to move around on our own as newborns, so we channelled some spirits to take us to Ludo’s shrine." He says this exactly the way another child might explain climbing onto a chair to reach a biscuit tin. There had been a problem, they had found a way to solve it, and now here they are, taller, faster, and much better equipped for pocket-work. Simple.
The question about babies has Calan tilting his head toward Carlo, more than happy to let his brother handle whatever ridiculous educational trap Finch is setting there. The important part, as far as Calan is concerned, comes after. "Where else should we be stealing from them?" he asks, brows drawing together as if Finch has pointed out a flaw in their choice of venue rather than their entire activity. "The beach has people with bags and towels and snacks, and half of them aren’t wearing proper pockets, so they have to put things somewhere stupid."
When Finch offers his name and hand, Calan is just as prompt as Carlo, wiping his sticky fingers against his shirt before presenting his palm with all the grave professionalism of a boy entering into serious business. His grip is small, firm, and slightly orange-scented, his chin tipping up as he looks Finch over in return. "Well, yeah," he says when Finch tries to make sense of how recently walking had come into the matter. He meets the scrutiny without so much as a blink, because none of this is confusing to him and adults really do waste a lot of time getting stuck on the easy bits. "We got tired of not being understood or being able to move around on our own as newborns, so we channelled some spirits to take us to Ludo’s shrine." He says this exactly the way another child might explain climbing onto a chair to reach a biscuit tin. There had been a problem, they had found a way to solve it, and now here they are, taller, faster, and much better equipped for pocket-work. Simple.
The question about babies has Calan tilting his head toward Carlo, more than happy to let his brother handle whatever ridiculous educational trap Finch is setting there. The important part, as far as Calan is concerned, comes after. "Where else should we be stealing from them?" he asks, brows drawing together as if Finch has pointed out a flaw in their choice of venue rather than their entire activity. "The beach has people with bags and towels and snacks, and half of them aren’t wearing proper pockets, so they have to put things somewhere stupid."
if it all goes wrong and we end up on the news, if you go down I'm goin' down too
