terriblepurpose | Deer Country Contact

[Paul smiles as reassuringly as he knows how to, which is exceptionally so. (He doesn't know it's one of those rare expressions that bring out his resemblance to his father, and Falco has no context to recognize it either.)]

Of course.

[He holds out a hand palm up, then half-curls his fingers like a wall of stakes around its empty center.]

The Pale Sanctuary is one of the safest places to explore things like that in Trench. I have a whole room warded there, and even if you're by yourself, you're never far from help. We wouldn't be, if you're asking for mine.

Alone, I mean.

[ it was probably a strange thing to be smiling to, all this possible ghost-parasite-communication. it’s not that that’s comforted falco, though; it’s obviously the security he feels in the offer. it makes his shoulders visibly relax, and allows him to roll the all he’d partially forgotten about back and forth from confetti’s reach. he’s grown to comfortable harmlessly chewing on it. ]

I’d feel better with that— with you, and the Sanctuary.

[ with confetti finally catching up, falco eyes a spot, and rolls the ball to paul’s shoe. ]

If you’ll have me.

[Paul catches the ball beneath his toes, rolling it back and forth lightly underneath them as he looks between the boy and his little creature. The subtle alchemy of togetherness has worked its magic again; Falco is readily upset, but willing to be soothed, which isn't the same thing as being easy to soothe.

So this is an accomplishment. It's one he's as proud of, in that still funny domestic way, as considering the right kind of toy for Confetti. He nudges the ball back to him with a loosening in his own shoulders above it.]

I'll always have you. That's what I'm here for.

[It's becoming more and more a part of him, this new and different purpose. That's what I'm here for, and the more he can say it, the more he can believe it, too.]

Now let's not worry about that until I have things ready for you, all right? Tell me...tell me a story about something Confetti did.

[ that's an easy and prompt choice to make if one wanted falco to steer into a broadening smile, reaching for the ovoid babe to fit into the space his legs leave when crossed. while bouncing confetti on his lap and being given an elated babble, falco starts his story: of a recent incident in the grass while playing a harmless game of "fly confetti" (with no actual throwing involved! only safe steering in his arms).

the creature had nuzzled close to his face when brought back down, and falco had cuddled it like he would any little thing he dearly loved. he was given a kiss, a little avian touch of the beak to his cheek complete with a clicking sound to imitate a smack— and he got dizzy.

so dizzy that is was both a little scary and a touch funny. if that's what it's like getting drunk, falco doesn't ever want to drink. like, ever. ]

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we can wrappy, with a little bow on top!