“Really?” They ask, their voice a soft whisper of surprise and shock as the realization sets in. What did Osozo do with their time if they didn’t have toys? Azrael can’t even imagine how to spend their day if they didn’t have their toys to fiddle with, to tear apart and recreate over and over again. Their gaze is wide as Osozo’s hair begins to turn red, listening for their question as Azrael considers an answer. “Because I make them gooder.” They say, lifting a toy that was definitely not meant to be torn apart and put back together, but had been anyway, and waving it around as if it were their prized joy.
In a way, it was.
But then they’re offering for Osozo to help with the toy that’s built for it, and a wide grin crosses Az’s lips as pink suddenly replaces the red. They hand the toy over to them and sit back in their bed, watching excitedly as someone else seems to harbor the very same interest in their toy that they did. And when it’s finished, Azrael claps excitedly – a signature perhaps of their father? – before taking the toy back and inspecting it in surprise and awe. “I like this a lot.” They say, running small fingers over the different parts. “You’re really good at this!”
In a way, it was.
But then they’re offering for Osozo to help with the toy that’s built for it, and a wide grin crosses Az’s lips as pink suddenly replaces the red. They hand the toy over to them and sit back in their bed, watching excitedly as someone else seems to harbor the very same interest in their toy that they did. And when it’s finished, Azrael claps excitedly – a signature perhaps of their father? – before taking the toy back and inspecting it in surprise and awe. “I like this a lot.” They say, running small fingers over the different parts. “You’re really good at this!”
progress, not perfection
Azrael
