A hiccup of a laugh slips from their throat as Pittore mutters his disapproval – Azrael turning back to look at their father, a childish grin of glee spread across their face. “Yeah, Pittore.” A chimed agreement before they’re padding their way toward Bastien. They look into the bowls and the other items around, turning back to Bastien when he arrives with the apron, their little arms flinging up into the air to help slip the apron on. “Okay, papa.” They say, despite the fact they’d really prefer to make a mess of everything.
Their arms remain up when Bastien places them into a chair, looking at the table that’s their level now, and the mortar and pestle before them. Small chubby hands reach for the stone pestle, brows furrowing as they try to follow Bastien’s instructions, pressing down with both hands and spinning it to crush the petals. They’d practiced this before, but they soon find out it’s far more challenging than anticipated. Their tongue pokes out as they try to poke at the petals with the pestle again, peering into the bowl as they go to spin it again.
It takes a while but eventually they spot a bit of red, a gleeful grin spreading across their face. “Papa look! Red!” They point the end of the pestle toward Bastien, pride glimmering across their face as it drips with a bit of the red hue.
Their arms remain up when Bastien places them into a chair, looking at the table that’s their level now, and the mortar and pestle before them. Small chubby hands reach for the stone pestle, brows furrowing as they try to follow Bastien’s instructions, pressing down with both hands and spinning it to crush the petals. They’d practiced this before, but they soon find out it’s far more challenging than anticipated. Their tongue pokes out as they try to poke at the petals with the pestle again, peering into the bowl as they go to spin it again.
It takes a while but eventually they spot a bit of red, a gleeful grin spreading across their face. “Papa look! Red!” They point the end of the pestle toward Bastien, pride glimmering across their face as it drips with a bit of the red hue.
progress, not perfection
Azrael
