[ luke doesn't trust anyone with little maia — he doesn't even trust himself. but with george and martha taking to her as surrogate parents, cooing over her, playing with her (without the biting), and talking to her with their own telepathic, fox-speaking ways, they're the ones he trusts. though martha often coddles luke, insisting he should be a little less strict and hard on himself, it hadn't been either of them that had suggested knitwear for maia and her siblings he has yet to find. it'd been himself, an instinctual thought to care for someone as he always has. would he inquire the network for knitwear for himself? no. he'd rather freeze to death than ask for help — he's spent the best portion of his life looking out for himself with a mother who could barely fight what had claimed her and a father who could hardly summon the strength to care for a hot minute — but when it comes to others, luke goes above and beyond, knocking on every door as he beseeches some kind soul into passing a little girl some food — or he thieves it for them. ]
[ while pride — and a desire to accept nothing from clarisse out of his own bad habit of never accepting a handout, despite when he really needs it — floods him with the impulse to knock her down a few pegs by denying her with a very simple no, maia's somewhat softened him a little. and he's not so certain it's for the best. he may have long fingers, capable of playing the piano or picking locks or wielding a sword or even creating his own string maze as he wraps cord around his hands to create a pattern, he's never liked knitting. it reminds him too much of his maternal grandmother, especially of how hades had stolen her before he had any chance of asking her for help. it's too soft of an art and it requires patience and a lack of anger, the latter that would only be sparked into an inferno if he holds the needles in his hands and tries to will the shaking that often overtakes him when he feels himself overcome with a demon he'll never truly exorcise away. ]
You're auditioning for Drabwurld's Next Top Knitter. You need three yeses from our panel of judges — I'm just the host.
I doubt she cares. She's been hiding in my shirts &mdash and blue isn't her color.
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[ while pride — and a desire to accept nothing from clarisse out of his own bad habit of never accepting a handout, despite when he really needs it — floods him with the impulse to knock her down a few pegs by denying her with a very simple no, maia's somewhat softened him a little. and he's not so certain it's for the best. he may have long fingers, capable of playing the piano or picking locks or wielding a sword or even creating his own string maze as he wraps cord around his hands to create a pattern, he's never liked knitting. it reminds him too much of his maternal grandmother, especially of how hades had stolen her before he had any chance of asking her for help. it's too soft of an art and it requires patience and a lack of anger, the latter that would only be sparked into an inferno if he holds the needles in his hands and tries to will the shaking that often overtakes him when he feels himself overcome with a demon he'll never truly exorcise away. ]
You're auditioning for Drabwurld's Next Top Knitter. You need three yeses from our panel of judges — I'm just the host.
I doubt she cares. She's been hiding in my shirts &mdash and blue isn't her color.