At first for Paris, this almost feels normal; spirits sometimes communicate through dreams, and being half-spirit himself, more of them tend to drop in on his than most others. But little things start to set this dream apart, how clear it is, how vast the domain seems to be, the separate paths-this is not how this is meant to work.
So he's a little anxious by the time he makes it to the party. The creatures there still look like spirits, perhaps ones of various insects or just ones that like that kind of look, but there's something very not-spirit like about them that he can't put his finger on. But if there's anything he knows about creatures like this, it's that it's never a good idea to be rude.
So he politely takes a croissant, knowing quite well that they probably won't taste like his mother's but it makes more sense to him than much of the rest of the food around the table. His unruly dirty blonde hair begins to emit small sparks from the tips, and his dark blue eyes widen as his fingers start experiencing the same effects. "I-this-is this supposed to happen??" he hisses at whoever's closest to him.
II
Unfortunately, being overly polite also gets Paris in trouble eventually. One of the Unseelie took a liking to him, partially because he's been putting up with their nonsense for a while now without complain and partially because they seem fascinated by the many, many freckles dotting his tanned skin. This has not resulted in him being left alone, but instead he's somehow been forced into a collar, which is not something he is at all sure about. He looks around, trying to make eye contact with anyone who looks like they might be helpful to try and get them to… well, help. To whatever interpretation of help they feel like, honestly.
paris mercout | original
At first for Paris, this almost feels normal; spirits sometimes communicate through dreams, and being half-spirit himself, more of them tend to drop in on his than most others. But little things start to set this dream apart, how clear it is, how vast the domain seems to be, the separate paths-this is not how this is meant to work.
So he's a little anxious by the time he makes it to the party. The creatures there still look like spirits, perhaps ones of various insects or just ones that like that kind of look, but there's something very not-spirit like about them that he can't put his finger on. But if there's anything he knows about creatures like this, it's that it's never a good idea to be rude.
So he politely takes a croissant, knowing quite well that they probably won't taste like his mother's but it makes more sense to him than much of the rest of the food around the table. His unruly dirty blonde hair begins to emit small sparks from the tips, and his dark blue eyes widen as his fingers start experiencing the same effects. "I-this-is this supposed to happen??" he hisses at whoever's closest to him.
II
Unfortunately, being overly polite also gets Paris in trouble eventually. One of the Unseelie took a liking to him, partially because he's been putting up with their nonsense for a while now without complain and partially because they seem fascinated by the many, many freckles dotting his tanned skin. This has not resulted in him being left alone, but instead he's somehow been forced into a collar, which is not something he is at all sure about. He looks around, trying to make eye contact with anyone who looks like they might be helpful to try and get them to… well, help.
To whatever interpretation of help they feel like, honestly.