[ It's been a long, productive night for Sigma. The locals loved his game, kids and adults were delighted with their prizes, and he was sent off with some of the leftover candy in a little paper bag to keep for a rainy day. It was hardly the best he could do, but it was still something more than wandering around like a useless duckling in a strange new place, so his spirits are pretty high when he's made it to the outskirts of the party grounds.
Then something catches his eye.
Hard not to, considering it's sparkling as if it's just been dipped in fairy dust and could fly away at any second. Even harder not to when it's a someone he'd been hoping not to not have to deal with here for quite some time.
...A someone who's. Still sparkling, mind. They don't normally do that. Even after Sigma furiously rubs at his eyes to try and make sure the night or atmosphere hasn't gotten to him.
Nope. Still there. ]
Oh. Good.
[ Not good, actually. Not anywhere near good--a door burst wide open for yet more pain and suffering down the line when he's only had a few days of relative peace to enjoy. And yet he can't find it in himself to be as furious as he thought he'd be, as quick to act when Gogol had asked about it, he's just...stuck. Stuck in his spot, arms heavy at his sides, staring dumbfoundedly at a brightly glittering Fyodor fucking Dostoevsky. ]
i with a little wildcard as a treat
Then something catches his eye.
Hard not to, considering it's sparkling as if it's just been dipped in fairy dust and could fly away at any second. Even harder not to when it's a someone he'd been hoping not to not have to deal with here for quite some time.
...A someone who's. Still sparkling, mind. They don't normally do that. Even after Sigma furiously rubs at his eyes to try and make sure the night or atmosphere hasn't gotten to him.
Nope. Still there. ]
Oh. Good.
[ Not good, actually. Not anywhere near good--a door burst wide open for yet more pain and suffering down the line when he's only had a few days of relative peace to enjoy. And yet he can't find it in himself to be as furious as he thought he'd be, as quick to act when Gogol had asked about it, he's just...stuck. Stuck in his spot, arms heavy at his sides, staring dumbfoundedly at a brightly glittering Fyodor fucking Dostoevsky. ]