[ John has been to really a lot of parades. They kind of lose their spark, after a while. But he has never been to a parade with his daughter, so of course he swept Gideon off with apologies to Harrow— I'm taking her into the city, et cetera, the continued tragedy of his existence is that no one ever laughs when he is incredibly funny— and now here they stand with strangers jostling their shoulders and confetti in their hair.
Honestly best that he didn't bring Harrow, because God has deigned to accept his own black-and-white facepaint. It looks incredible. If asked, he will say cheerfully that it seems like a local tradition, best to play along; and also, mystifyingly, whoop whoop.
He is plainly not used to facepaint, having already smudged a line of black along his brow, but this does not seem to hamper his mood. God rocks on the balls of his feet and considers the bustle around them. ]
Oh, you know. Superstition, tradition, an excuse to eat fried things on sticks. If you spot anything promising, I'm buying.
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Honestly best that he didn't bring Harrow, because God has deigned to accept his own black-and-white facepaint. It looks incredible. If asked, he will say cheerfully that it seems like a local tradition, best to play along; and also, mystifyingly, whoop whoop.
He is plainly not used to facepaint, having already smudged a line of black along his brow, but this does not seem to hamper his mood. God rocks on the balls of his feet and considers the bustle around them. ]
Oh, you know. Superstition, tradition, an excuse to eat fried things on sticks. If you spot anything promising, I'm buying.