"Oh," he says, with an embarrassed smile. "Um. Thank you!"

The wriggler drops back to the ground with a hiss, spinning as they struggle to regain their balance. He can sympathize: even when he's sober, hos psionics never want to play well, either, and he's tempted to murmur as much to Riccin.

But that might embarrass the wriggler, and he doesn't want to do that, especially not when they pick themselves up so quickly. They trot over to Riccin, stop right in front of them, and wait.

Building their strength for the bigger hop, probably. There's over two feet of distance between them. Pheres tugs on their arm, pressing his free hand against it, and then bounces up on his toes, until his chin is almost resting on their shoulder. "Bend down, please?" he requests with a laugh.