Calan
If Carlo’s lime-green slicker doesn’t give away their position from halfway across Kaiholo Port, Calan’s identical yellow one certainly does. The sleeves have been rolled back with considerably less success than his brother’s, leaving damp cuffs to slip against his wrists whenever he moves, and the hood keeps falling low enough over his eyes that he has to tip his whole head back to see properly. It’s irritating, but not irritating enough to ruin the operation.
At the sight of the little boat, any complaint vanishes behind a toothy grin. Calan accepts it with both hands, far more delicately than he's ever held anything that isn't breakable, stolen, or liable to bite him, and lowers it toward the rushing ribbon of rainwater besides the boards. He doesn't let it go straight away, but instead pinches the tiny mast Carlo has folded into place. Hunching close beneath his dripping hood, he clears his throat with the solemn importance of someone addressing a crowd rather than a small scrap of wax paper. "Now listen," he tells it quietly. "You're goin' into dangerous waters. There'll be whirlpools, probably pirates, and defintely sewer monsters. Don't trust anybody wearin' a hat bigger than theirs should be, and if you find treasure, bring it back here since we're your captains." Then, with a sharp little flick of his fingers, Calan releases the mast.
"Godspeed," he calls after it, drawing the word out as the boat is wooooooooooooooshed forward, bobbing madly over the uneven boards and bouncing down the stream as though it’s already discovered something important. Calan rises into a crouch to follow it, one hand shoving his hood back from his eyes as he squints after its bright little voyage. "That’s actually a really good boat," he tells Carlo, sounding almost surprised by it. "I bet it finds all sorts of treasure."
At the sight of the little boat, any complaint vanishes behind a toothy grin. Calan accepts it with both hands, far more delicately than he's ever held anything that isn't breakable, stolen, or liable to bite him, and lowers it toward the rushing ribbon of rainwater besides the boards. He doesn't let it go straight away, but instead pinches the tiny mast Carlo has folded into place. Hunching close beneath his dripping hood, he clears his throat with the solemn importance of someone addressing a crowd rather than a small scrap of wax paper. "Now listen," he tells it quietly. "You're goin' into dangerous waters. There'll be whirlpools, probably pirates, and defintely sewer monsters. Don't trust anybody wearin' a hat bigger than theirs should be, and if you find treasure, bring it back here since we're your captains." Then, with a sharp little flick of his fingers, Calan releases the mast.
"Godspeed," he calls after it, drawing the word out as the boat is wooooooooooooooshed forward, bobbing madly over the uneven boards and bouncing down the stream as though it’s already discovered something important. Calan rises into a crouch to follow it, one hand shoving his hood back from his eyes as he squints after its bright little voyage. "That’s actually a really good boat," he tells Carlo, sounding almost surprised by it. "I bet it finds all sorts of treasure."
I've never been one to half-ass shenanigans.
