three ring circus

Carlo

"No, she definitely lives there," Carlo is hissing from where he's crouched behind the corner of a building that leads onto the street where the medical clinic - and therefore Fern - is located. They haven't been up into the floating reaches of Haulani much (read: at all) yet, and so far his opinion is that it's open, breezy, and that it has great views and a plethora of opportunities for trouble for two young entrepreneurs with identical faces. The only problem with that though, Carlo is realising, is that a third person is often necessary to facilitate whatever quick-change tomfoolery they're attempting.

And besides, they've been trying to meet Fern since they got kneecaps, so this is long overdue.

Unbeknownst to Carlo, though, he's nodding at the building right next to the medical clinic, his hands held up to his eyes like binoculars as if that will make it easier for him to see their third musketeer and surely best friend for life. "I bet we could get a crate, then I could stand on it and you could stand on my shoulders, and we'd be able to see through the apartment window. Then," he continues, because this is only step one (step three is profit and step two is TBC), "the three of us can head to that marketplace and get one of those big pretzels I keep seeing."

today you are the king and the day belongs to you

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Calan

Calan nods at once, because if Carlo says she definitely lives there, then she definitely lives there, and it would be rude, probably, to let the lack of proof slow down a plan already showing this much promise. Crouched beside his brother with his own hands held up like binoculars, he squints hard at the building beside the clinic. "Perfect," he whispers, nodding decisively, though the word comes out with the sort of confidence usually reserved for people who know what their target looks like, where she lives, and whether she has any interest at all in being recruited by two identical strangers for pretzel-related business. None of this troubles Calan, because the plan has a crate, a window, an eventual best friend, and food at the end of it, which makes it structurally sound in every way that matters.

He lowers his hand-binoculars just enough to glance along the street, checking for crates, ladders, distracted adults, possible witnesses, and anything else that might become useful if looked at from the correct angle. "We need something sturdy," he adds, still whispering, because spying requires whispering even when nobody is close enough to hear, "and we need to look like we’re supposed to have it." Yelling sure dad, we'll grab this crate you asked for would probably do the trick.

I've never been one to half-ass shenanigans.

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!