@dcviated / raguna said:
Lil' Bryson got another splinter.
" Eh? " A letter is abandoned mid-stroke, a chalk-dusted fingers pulling away from the board where she'd been sketching out ideas for the next lessons she had in mind, turning to look at the pair of of them: a husband looking quietly sympathetic through a wane, apologetic smile, and their slightly flustered son at his side: his right hand loosely cradling the left, which was held out in front of him, palm up and fingers splayed.
Bryson's hands and arms were only everΒ reallyΒ clean just before a meal or in the moments just before bedtime, as at any other time of day they touted the proofs of his many labors: a bit of dust, dirt, and the little nicks, scrapes, and bruises of an industriousΒ little man; but it's still clear as day in the moment where his newest souvenir was lodged, the bright-red patch and swelling acting as the functional 'x,' marking the spot.
" OhΒ Bry, that's the third time in a week! Come here, you. " Anette 'chides,' gentle admonishment paired with an exasperated smile of her own, beckoning him over with a quirk of her head as she quickly rags off the dust from her digits: crossing to stand by the window, so she can survey the little hand which soon finds it's way to rest in hers in the best light. " Whatever happened to those nice work gloves we just got you? "
Bryson sniffs, and almost pouts for a moment, but mostly just shrugs: " ...I forgot them. " A response which sees both parents stifle broader smiles, and swallow a chuckle. Too excited to jump straight into whatever thought had stolen him away; it was the same impulse which often saw one of his boots untied as he rushed out the door or a vest shrugged on with its seams facing out.
" Well, we'll just have to work on that then, huh? We can make up a little checklist to go through... your dad will tell you that I had to do that a lot, too, when I was running the mail. "Β Keys, coinpurse, canteen.Β Alliteration certainly did favors, there. " I know what it's like to want to throw yourself straight into stuff, waste no timeβbut it's not wasting time to make sure you're safe, or to be careful. "
In fact, he'd probably realize soon how much time itΒ saved, since it would mean less moments spent on hiatus, wincing while his mom carefully pressed on tender skin to draw it taught, eventually revealing the head of the slender offender where it'd slipped in between the layers. His face scrunched a little more as she tweezed it out, but he didn't (wouldn't) cry; too stubborn by half, and growing too familiar with the feeling in the other. With the worst of it settled, though, the sharp pain subsides, and the emotional side is further assuaged by the barely-there, tiny kiss she places on his palm.
" Let's wash up, make sure it's all clean and good, then maybe you can help me out for a little bitβI need someone with a big brain to bounce ideas off of... then you and Dad can tell me all about what you're working on and what big plans you have over dinner, mmkay? "
