Ah, so both twins are here now. Wonderful. Finch isn't sure which was the one who collided their foot with his shin/groin at this point, their two faces identically mischievous and their probably-swapped identities, but he doesn't want to find out regardless. "Hello, Oria," He says to the little tree-branch-thingy with utmost sincerity and and politeness, sweeping his lithe body into a formal bow. He hopes to make the twins giggle and/or roll his eyes with his antics, but if the spriggan could accept his flattery, he would take the advantage, no matter how leafy or whirly. Ignoring Calan's(?) awed request for his magic trick explanation, he tosses out a wink and a charlatan's grin instead
"Your dads are here?" Finch raises a curious eyebrow, scanning the room for anyone who may be looking to keep an eye on two wiggling, curious thieves with honey cakes in their sticky little fingers. He sees no one with their parental heads on swivels, so either these fathers are as negligent as Finch suspects, or utterly obtuse as to what their newborn children are up to when they're unsupervised. "Guess I'll have to keep out of their way. I wouldn't want them thinking I'm a bad influence on you." Yeah, right. If anything these two monsters were going to get him into trouble, and not the other way around. Speaking of trouble, he let his eyes wander the party for potential targets, looking to show off a smidge but still end the party with his head still happily affixed to his neck. Finch's calculating eyes snag on a handsome, wide-berthed man deep in conversation with someone, a soft smile affixed to his face. For as muscular as he is, he doesn't look like one to hold a grudge if he were to find a certain thief's fingers wandering in his pockets.
Finch looks back at Carlo and Calan (or Calan and Carlo?) and wiggles his eyebrows. "I'm coming for that honey cake," He says, eyes alighting with adrenaline and the excited fire of trickster about to pull a con. Ghosting away, he weaves and bobs soundlessly until he's right behind the man. Then, with one last wink, he crashes bodily into the man.
"Oh, Gods, I'm so sorry," Finch says, earnest and embarrassed, his face turning the beet-red of a bashful youngster. As he rights himself, his hands flicker into the man's pockets, light as air and quick as a breeze on a summer's day. The other hand rests distractingly on the study man's shoulder while Finch 'catches his balance.'
--
(Finch is trying to pickpocket Zavien !)
"Your dads are here?" Finch raises a curious eyebrow, scanning the room for anyone who may be looking to keep an eye on two wiggling, curious thieves with honey cakes in their sticky little fingers. He sees no one with their parental heads on swivels, so either these fathers are as negligent as Finch suspects, or utterly obtuse as to what their newborn children are up to when they're unsupervised. "Guess I'll have to keep out of their way. I wouldn't want them thinking I'm a bad influence on you." Yeah, right. If anything these two monsters were going to get him into trouble, and not the other way around. Speaking of trouble, he let his eyes wander the party for potential targets, looking to show off a smidge but still end the party with his head still happily affixed to his neck. Finch's calculating eyes snag on a handsome, wide-berthed man deep in conversation with someone, a soft smile affixed to his face. For as muscular as he is, he doesn't look like one to hold a grudge if he were to find a certain thief's fingers wandering in his pockets.
Finch looks back at Carlo and Calan (or Calan and Carlo?) and wiggles his eyebrows. "I'm coming for that honey cake," He says, eyes alighting with adrenaline and the excited fire of trickster about to pull a con. Ghosting away, he weaves and bobs soundlessly until he's right behind the man. Then, with one last wink, he crashes bodily into the man.
"Oh, Gods, I'm so sorry," Finch says, earnest and embarrassed, his face turning the beet-red of a bashful youngster. As he rights himself, his hands flicker into the man's pockets, light as air and quick as a breeze on a summer's day. The other hand rests distractingly on the study man's shoulder while Finch 'catches his balance.'
--
(Finch is trying to pickpocket Zavien !)
