EGG HUNT: SAINT & ARGENT

It’s cold. For much of his life, Saint never imagined he would experience snow, and even after years of living abroad, he still couldn’t quite find himself getting used to it. He came to the Rookery for several reasons, but found himself just standing there, trying to take it all in. Feeling out of place.

It had been about a week since he and his roommate returned from UNOVRCon. Things were—weird. He didn’t know. Maybe it was just him, but the atmosphere was kind of fucked. He wasn’t an innocent party here either, being self-aware enough to know he was pulling away when he should be fawning over someone who's just been hospitalized.

His face twitched. The wings on his back fluttered a little, before clamping shut against his body once more.

His ready excuse was that he wanted to pull his grades higher. His other excuse was—well, it wasn’t asked of him yet, so maybe he could keep that in the pocket for a little while longer.

He trudged through the snow, following after Slushie, who was charting a path, sniffing and digging through snow for any signs of eggs. Saint turned when it felt too quiet.

“Finn, are you coming?”

“Finding eggs.” Saint didn’t move, waiting for argent to catch up. His eyes remained steady on him, collar pulled over his mouth and nose to keep warm. It made it hard to read what was on his face.

When argent drew close enough, he turned and followed Slushie’s trail of paw prints in the snow. “You’re well enough to be discharged and ride a 7-hour flight, but you’ve still got a few weeks before you’re fully recovered. Sleep is especially important.” Considering the guy got his head treated like bongos. Saint continued, rambling softly regardless if argent was paying attention. “I know this is just a game, but it’s a good way to keep you asleep and control your dreams. And egg hunting is pretty simple and calming.”

Slushie was over a little sledding slope, beating a gaggle of Patrat in skiing gear with her bare paws. The air was filled with the distant screams of the rodent torment nexus. “… Mostly calming,” he amended.

She seemed to have it under control, and not wanting to get between Slushie and her new passion for Unmitigated Violence, Saint stopped and returned his attention to argent. And the thing that was following argent.

He’d been waiting for him to bring it up, but there had been no mention of the specter at all. In the snow, it was barely visible, but if Saint squinted he could see its faded, colorless silhouette. It was a little unnerving. “Are you… sure you’re okay with that?”