"Yes, Finch like the bird, and I was found washed up on the shore with a set of lockpicks in my hand," He lies smoothly. "That's how all good little thieves are made." His mouth was moving faster than his brain, as it so often did, as his mind races to piece together the bizarre fragments Calan and Carlo fire at him like they're normal fact. Okay, so they were grown in the magic-baby-garden by two loving, albeit perhaps a little negligent, fathers. Alright, sure. That would explain why they were running around, completely unsupervised, trying to see if they could nab things from unsuspecting tourists. He had heard weirder things here in Touchline, and if they were three-week-old little spirit babies, that perhaps explained a decent amount about what Finch has observed about them.
His eyebrows crinkle together a little. "No, you're right that the beach isn't the worst place for stealing, but it's a hotspot for it so people will be on high alert. And they're not going to be bringing their best stuff here." Why was he giving advice to these little boys? That seemed like a bad idea. He rubs a hand down his face, wondering how he got involved in this. Was this some sort of divine punishment? One of the Gods playing a prank on one of their unluckiest followers? Perhaps Ludo was giving him a little wink here, a taste of his own medicine.
Trying to follow a conversation between these two's seemingly-shared brain is like trying to follow a game of poker in a bouncy house. The threads of their conversation overlap, weaving knotted between each other until they're presenting a wild and messy tapestry and calling it art. "I wasn't asking why, in the sense of 'why this particular area of the city,'" He clarifies slowly, looking each twin in the eye as he speaks. "I was asking why, in the sense of, do you have somewhere else to go? Another way to survive? People looking out for you?" His face darkens a touch as a spare cloud drifts over the bright sun, casting his long shadow over the face of Carlo and Calan. Straightening up from the wall, his shoulders unfold backward, the full lanky, scarred mess of his body on full display for the little weasels, trying to muster up whatever Adult authority he can in the face of this childlike surety. "It's dangerous. You shouldn't do it unless you have any other choice."
His eyebrows crinkle together a little. "No, you're right that the beach isn't the worst place for stealing, but it's a hotspot for it so people will be on high alert. And they're not going to be bringing their best stuff here." Why was he giving advice to these little boys? That seemed like a bad idea. He rubs a hand down his face, wondering how he got involved in this. Was this some sort of divine punishment? One of the Gods playing a prank on one of their unluckiest followers? Perhaps Ludo was giving him a little wink here, a taste of his own medicine.
Trying to follow a conversation between these two's seemingly-shared brain is like trying to follow a game of poker in a bouncy house. The threads of their conversation overlap, weaving knotted between each other until they're presenting a wild and messy tapestry and calling it art. "I wasn't asking why, in the sense of 'why this particular area of the city,'" He clarifies slowly, looking each twin in the eye as he speaks. "I was asking why, in the sense of, do you have somewhere else to go? Another way to survive? People looking out for you?" His face darkens a touch as a spare cloud drifts over the bright sun, casting his long shadow over the face of Carlo and Calan. Straightening up from the wall, his shoulders unfold backward, the full lanky, scarred mess of his body on full display for the little weasels, trying to muster up whatever Adult authority he can in the face of this childlike surety. "It's dangerous. You shouldn't do it unless you have any other choice."
