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Snow Tart
270774
“Okay, fine.” Ricardo finally pulls away, letting himself drop back into the blanket pile. “Show me how it’s done, then.”
“Yes! My turn now.” Pascal heaves himself back upright, propping his chin up on his hand. “Hm. First I will do it the way my covenmates did it.” He clears his throat, and when he starts speaking again, his voice is high and lilting. “Oh, Ricardo, how handsome you are! Ricardo, I envy your thick hair. What a lovely color it is! Like gold! How enviable you are! Ricardo, I wish my jaw was strong like yours. Oh, I hate you, Ricardo, for being so —”
“Okay,” says Ricardo, stiffly. “Is that really — did you guys really just sit around and talk like that?”
“Oh, yes. But now already I am bored.” Pascal rolls over, one full turn, until he’s bumped up against Ricardo’s chest, and tosses his hair out of his eyes. “So now I will do it for real.”
He takes a second, peering up at Ricardo’s face, and then stretches out one hand and presses his fingertip just above the bridge of Ricardo’s nose. “Did you know, you have a little wrinkle. Just here, between these eyebrows. And it is always there, even when maybe you are not frowning very hard.” He rubs his finger against the spot a little, as if he could smooth it out. “If we were not immortal, I would say to you that you must stop frowning, or you will get wrinkles and your face will stick like this! But since it’s already there, this means it was there before you were—” He catches himself. “Before I turn you.”
There’s a pause, and he takes his hand away. “It makes me a little happy.”
Ricardo scoffs. “What does? My forehead wrinkle?”
“Yes! Because, euuuhhh.” Pascal twists his fingers idly in the blankets. “Because it means already you were making these faces always, before I turn you. So — so that means it is not that when I turn you, I made you into a completely different person, and that before you were always so happy and that your personality now has changed, or something like this.” He picks at a loose thread in the blanket. “This is a selfish thing to be relieved about.”
“It’s fine,” Ricardo says, and means it. “You’re right, actually. I’ve always been like this, I guess.” He reaches out and pokes Pascal between the eyebrows, once, briefly. “Just worse, once you pissed me off by murdering me.”
“But you cannot get wrinkles now, so that is fine,” Pascal points out. “Hmm… what else… oh, you need a haircut.”
“No I don’t.”
“You do! You need a haircut. This scruffy look is nice for you, of course, you are still very rugged and all this, but you could be so handsome with a trim. And you slouch, also. You should try to be having better posture.”
“You know,” says Ricardo, “you aren’t very good at this, either.”
“These are just things I am always noticing!” Pascal argues. “Fine, I will think of something complimentary.” He hums to himself, in an exaggerated way meant to read as extremely thoughtful, and when he finally seems to come to a conclusion, he’s already giggling to himself about it before a single word has left his mouth. “You do not look like a Furby. That is another very important description of you.”
“Really,” says Ricardo, dryly.
Pascal shakes his head vigorously, snickering. “Not even a little tiny bit.”
Ricardo punches down the blankets bunched up beneath his neck to get comfortable, flopping over onto his back. “Thanks, Pascal. My self image has been completely reconstructed. I’ve never been more sure of who I am or what I look like.”
“I am so happy to help,” Pascal chirps.
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