[Falco's interest in the bowls is noted. So, too, is the emergence of the round little creature from the bag, which Paul catches sight of and quickly averts his attention from in a moment of uncharacteristic gentle mischievousness. It's very...cute, he thinks, which isn't a word he uses often.
Instead of calling attention to Confetti, Paul turns back to the work, pouring the pans to partial fullness while perhaps reserving just a touch more of the batter than he needs. Falco's question and pressing hands are first answered with a contemplative hum, a light shake of his head.]
No. Not yet.
[Any other day, he might be troubled by the thought. Today, in this sunlit kitchen, slipping cake pans into the preheated oven, Paul can imagine stories better than the ones he fears.]
What sort of stories would do you think they might tell about me? And, of course, my faithful friend.
[A pointed and fond glance at Falco, in case he doesn't catch on immediately.]
no subject
Instead of calling attention to Confetti, Paul turns back to the work, pouring the pans to partial fullness while perhaps reserving just a touch more of the batter than he needs. Falco's question and pressing hands are first answered with a contemplative hum, a light shake of his head.]
No. Not yet.
[Any other day, he might be troubled by the thought. Today, in this sunlit kitchen, slipping cake pans into the preheated oven, Paul can imagine stories better than the ones he fears.]
What sort of stories would do you think they might tell about me? And, of course, my faithful friend.
[A pointed and fond glance at Falco, in case he doesn't catch on immediately.]