"Okay, bud, come on, time out." Duck groans as he steps out onto the sidewalk, bending to pick up his son with a grunt. "I know, the feelins are real big and you ain't sure how t' handle 'em, so we're gonna go somewhere else so you don't make a scene." Robin isn't exactly coherent, the little boy blubbering and squawking about something breaking while he was working on it- enough to tip the scales in his head to cause a breakdown, it seems. It's a few minutes, behind the trailer and away from the hustle and bustle of the festival itself before Duck has him settled again, crouched in front of of the boy and wiping his face with a handkerchief. "There- all better?" He questions, the little boy red-faced and sniffling, but nodding once more. "A'right, now get back to yer spot, okay? Daddy'll catch up in a minute." It's when Robin leaves him, darting back to where he's sat in the dirt with the dog and his flowers, that Duck pulls the joint from behind his ear and his lighter from his pocket, sparking up the end and taking a long drag. He pauses, when he spots Matt looking on from nearby. "Ah don't look at me like that." He chuckles. "This isn't because of him, I don't like that many people around my shit either- difference is, I'm 40, he's 8, so we're not gonna give him any weed." He adjusts, leaning against the trailer with a grunt.
"Hear you an' Hawthorne are livin' together now. Finally get tired a' the sharin' and carin' shit at th' commune?"
@wanderinglcst