Clemente
the difference between a garden
and a graveyard
is what we choose to put in the soil
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Clem is late, and he's running like hell with his little bundle held tight to his chest, pretending that time simply isn't moving so that he doesn't feel so badly about coming so late. He had been so worried about his presents, had spent hours agonizing over making them perfect, and time had simply...slipped away.
Wessex's voice rings in his head and he nearly stumbles in surprise, but his heart warms at the fact that she checks on him nonetheless. I'm coming! He calls back as he readjusts his presents. There are a lot more people than he expected however, certainly more than the normal size of their fanged-family. It slows his pace immediately, old wary instincts coming to the fore. Clem is aware he probably looks like a half-starved streetdog with how he skirts around the edges of the gathering, shoulders hiked high and eyes darting around the new faces as he tries to get to
"Who're all these people?" he mumbles uncomfortably, wishing he weren't so tall so he might hide by her side. Reaching into the bag he digs around until he finds hers, and shyly offers it to her from her side. "I made ya this," he clarifies nervously. It's a decently sized wooden brooch with an electric arc through a heart. Simultaneously meant to symbolize her electric heart and closeness to The Voice, and a closeness to himself. Embarrassed immediately he turns to find his other gift victims.
Clem slips away towards Rexanna and Bastien despite how busy they seem to be. Clemente doesn't care about that, he's clearly far more important (or so he tells himself to settle the nerves chewing him up inside) so they can wait. This is a gift giving event, not a talk-yourself-to-death event. A matching pair of wooden hearts - a larger one on a necklace for Rex, and a smaller one on a bracelet for Bastien - with a small engraving in his slightly-improving hand that said 'Clem <3 You'. He scampers away quickly after depositing them, uncomfortable with the amount of eyes on the pair.
Feeling bad that he hadn't gotten anything for the others even though he doesn't really know them, he retreats to Wessex's side, ears sharp as she has asked of him now that there are strangers in their midst. Wondering why they were invited, why they had invaded, and feeling distinctly less celebratory in the wake of his suspicion.