Calan
Calan’s face scrunches up immediately, not because Carlo is wrong, but because he’s so right that it feels like they’ve failed some ancient and obvious rule of boats. Of course the best ones have names. Probably the bad ones have names too, but those are likely things like The Damp Mistake or Father Said No, and neither of those seems grand enough for a wax paper vessel currently braving Kaiholo Port’s very dangerous gutter system. "What about..." he begins, drawing the words out as he squints after their boat with the full severity of someone naming a ship, a kingdom, and possibly a future enemy all at once. "Boaty McBoatface?"
This, naturally, is when Finch interrupts, and Calan’s shoulders rise almost to his ears as he turns beneath the sagging yellow hood, trying to look as if he and Carlo have been doing something deeply respectable this entire time. It doesn’t quite work, mostly because rainwater is dripping off the end of his nose and the grin he’s trying to hide is pulling hard at one side of his mouth. "We know," he says, nodding with immediate and triumphant agreement as if Finch has merely confirmed their own genius rather than offered advice.
For proof, Calan turns toward the stream, already lifting one hand to point after their heroic, unsinkable vessel, only to find that she has not made it more than a few feet before lodging herself against a sad little barricade of shells and seaweed. His expression falls into a frown of pure professional disappointment, and then he springs up from his crouch, splashing down the slick boards after her before any less loyal captain can declare the voyage finished. "Temporary pause," he calls back over his shoulder, as though this is a common nautical term. With one careful finger, he frees the boat from the mess and gives her a helpful nudge back into the rushing water, but the rain has its own ideas. The little boat wobbles, spins, and goes wombling straight toward a storm drain before slipping neatly through the grate and vanishing into the dark below.
Calan stops dead above it, both hands braced on his knees as he bends down and twists his head, trying to see into the black gaps beneath the metal. For half a second, it looks as if tragedy might be considered. Then his face lights up beneath the yellow hood, bright and certain and absolutely unwilling to accept defeat when a better story is available. "She’s gone into the Fingers for treasure!" he announces, loud enough for the drain, Carlo, Finch, and any sewer monsters to hear.
This, naturally, is when Finch interrupts, and Calan’s shoulders rise almost to his ears as he turns beneath the sagging yellow hood, trying to look as if he and Carlo have been doing something deeply respectable this entire time. It doesn’t quite work, mostly because rainwater is dripping off the end of his nose and the grin he’s trying to hide is pulling hard at one side of his mouth. "We know," he says, nodding with immediate and triumphant agreement as if Finch has merely confirmed their own genius rather than offered advice.
For proof, Calan turns toward the stream, already lifting one hand to point after their heroic, unsinkable vessel, only to find that she has not made it more than a few feet before lodging herself against a sad little barricade of shells and seaweed. His expression falls into a frown of pure professional disappointment, and then he springs up from his crouch, splashing down the slick boards after her before any less loyal captain can declare the voyage finished. "Temporary pause," he calls back over his shoulder, as though this is a common nautical term. With one careful finger, he frees the boat from the mess and gives her a helpful nudge back into the rushing water, but the rain has its own ideas. The little boat wobbles, spins, and goes wombling straight toward a storm drain before slipping neatly through the grate and vanishing into the dark below.
Calan stops dead above it, both hands braced on his knees as he bends down and twists his head, trying to see into the black gaps beneath the metal. For half a second, it looks as if tragedy might be considered. Then his face lights up beneath the yellow hood, bright and certain and absolutely unwilling to accept defeat when a better story is available. "She’s gone into the Fingers for treasure!" he announces, loud enough for the drain, Carlo, Finch, and any sewer monsters to hear.
I've never been one to half-ass shenanigans.
