There’s a moment of surprised hesitation when Esteban’s wing leans into his hand, but after that initial surprise Rezo is happy to accept the invitation. He runs his hands over Esteban’s wing, keeping his touch light and gentle, though he has an expression of blatant curiosity that wouldn’t be out of place on a small child.
As enjoyable as it is to examine the structure of Esteban’s wing- Rezo certainly hasn’t gotten a chance to personally handle a dragon’s wings before- he’s not so distracted that he misses what Esteban is saying. He wonders if a lack of space is entirely the reason that Esteban has kept his draconic features hidden before, but refrains from calling him out on it.
“That’s an interesting way of looking at it,” Rezo remarks. He certainly doesn’t think of other humans as extended family- hardly thinks of anyone as family, really. It’s never been a framework he’s fit easily into.
(There isn’t really any framework he’s ever fit into.)
“I don’t know if it is the same for the dragons of my world,” he adds. On the very, very few times he’s spoken with dragons before Esteban, it’s always been for reasons related to the pursuit of his cure.
Rezo shakes his head, trying to shake away the melancholic emotions that inevitably arise with the thoughts of his hopeless dream. Better to distract himself- and he does have something that may work.
“By the way,” Rezo says abruptly. “I made something for you.”
Rezo withdraws his hands from Esteban and digs around in his pockets, producing a stuffed… Something. Clearly made from the most random hodge-podge of materials Rezo could find in the art car.
no subject
As enjoyable as it is to examine the structure of Esteban’s wing- Rezo certainly hasn’t gotten a chance to personally handle a dragon’s wings before- he’s not so distracted that he misses what Esteban is saying. He wonders if a lack of space is entirely the reason that Esteban has kept his draconic features hidden before, but refrains from calling him out on it.
“That’s an interesting way of looking at it,” Rezo remarks. He certainly doesn’t think of other humans as extended family- hardly thinks of anyone as family, really. It’s never been a framework he’s fit easily into.
(There isn’t really any framework he’s ever fit into.)
“I don’t know if it is the same for the dragons of my world,” he adds. On the very, very few times he’s spoken with dragons before Esteban, it’s always been for reasons related to the pursuit of his cure.
Rezo shakes his head, trying to shake away the melancholic emotions that inevitably arise with the thoughts of his hopeless dream. Better to distract himself- and he does have something that may work.
“By the way,” Rezo says abruptly. “I made something for you.”
Rezo withdraws his hands from Esteban and digs around in his pockets, producing a stuffed… Something. Clearly made from the most random hodge-podge of materials Rezo could find in the art car.
(It’s meant to be a chinchilla.)