Touch tickles him, not used to having anyone's hands on his wings. It makes him want to shiver, but Esteban contains the feeling; Rezo is his friend, and he wants to show them to him, let him look as much as he wants. The tip of his tail still rasp against stone, tiny flutters of movement he can't quite keep steady, but curled on his other side, he doesn't think the priest minds it.
He's not sure what Rezo means by interesting-- or what he (they?) are looking at exactly, but he figures there's no need to prod. Even though curiosity burns across his lips brighter than a beacon, he holds it back as Rezo slips along to other subjects. He takes a breath to speak when his friend moves things along, and Esteban blinks at the mention-- made something.
For him?
It's a small, handful of fluff that gets passed down into his hand, a little grey pocket that of awkwardly sewn fabric. There are stars and flowers patterned across the tiny toy, and two button eyes of different sizes and garish colours. Felt makes up uncertain limbs, in bright blues that clash or compliment the grey quite well-- Esteban isn't quite sure-- and the tail puffs out in a feathery fluff.
"Oh that's gorgeous!" He can't help it. It could be the ugliest thing he's ever seen-- actually, he's really not even sure what it's supposed to be-- but there is... there is such a treasure to this.
Rezo made this for him. Rezo made this for him. There's something strung tight between his ribs at this, and he plucks the small toy in both hands, running a thumb along its clumsy seams and fluffy, bright-aqua tail. His smile doubles, as impossible as that might be.
"So soft! Y' got such great fabrics!" It feels so nice. Esteban isn't much for material things-- not really. But there is something about this tiny gift, this little thing, that makes him all the more touched by it. Maybe it's the way it's so clearly cobbled together clumsily. Maybe it's just because it was made for him specifically. He doesn't know how to--
"Thanks!" It falls too short. "I love it!" A bit closer, but it still doesn't-- words are so hard for him. He can't help squeezing, turning the little gift over in his palms, the brushed yarn tail trailing across his wrists in fluttery caresses. Esteban makes a note to attach a strap to it, so he won't lose it. He doesn't ever want to lose it.
If his words fall short, his limbs, however, do not, and there's a fluster of movement from the moment he spots the little toy, wings rustling in his excitement, tail tapping and darting in short, eager bursts, scuffing against the stone. Rezo is never in danger of being smacked, but the wing behind him is possibly the loudest, short lithe bursts of sound as the leather flutters endlessly just behind him.
no subject
He's not sure what Rezo means by interesting-- or what he (they?) are looking at exactly, but he figures there's no need to prod. Even though curiosity burns across his lips brighter than a beacon, he holds it back as Rezo slips along to other subjects. He takes a breath to speak when his friend moves things along, and Esteban blinks at the mention-- made something.
For him?
It's a small, handful of fluff that gets passed down into his hand, a little grey pocket that of awkwardly sewn fabric. There are stars and flowers patterned across the tiny toy, and two button eyes of different sizes and garish colours. Felt makes up uncertain limbs, in bright blues that clash or compliment the grey quite well-- Esteban isn't quite sure-- and the tail puffs out in a feathery fluff.
"Oh that's gorgeous!" He can't help it. It could be the ugliest thing he's ever seen-- actually, he's really not even sure what it's supposed to be-- but there is... there is such a treasure to this.
Rezo made this for him. Rezo made this for him. There's something strung tight between his ribs at this, and he plucks the small toy in both hands, running a thumb along its clumsy seams and fluffy, bright-aqua tail. His smile doubles, as impossible as that might be.
"So soft! Y' got such great fabrics!" It feels so nice. Esteban isn't much for material things-- not really. But there is something about this tiny gift, this little thing, that makes him all the more touched by it. Maybe it's the way it's so clearly cobbled together clumsily. Maybe it's just because it was made for him specifically. He doesn't know how to--
"Thanks!" It falls too short. "I love it!" A bit closer, but it still doesn't-- words are so hard for him. He can't help squeezing, turning the little gift over in his palms, the brushed yarn tail trailing across his wrists in fluttery caresses. Esteban makes a note to attach a strap to it, so he won't lose it. He doesn't ever want to lose it.
If his words fall short, his limbs, however, do not, and there's a fluster of movement from the moment he spots the little toy, wings rustling in his excitement, tail tapping and darting in short, eager bursts, scuffing against the stone. Rezo is never in danger of being smacked, but the wing behind him is possibly the loudest, short lithe bursts of sound as the leather flutters endlessly just behind him.