It's hard not to think of Pheres as a kid, even knowing he's nine, when he's so short and cowed. Good thing they were selected for the Imperial Trainee Program early, before the effects of low feed and low allowance could really set in: being stunted like that would've fucking sucked.
He angles his head back to peer up at them, his weird, mismatched eyes skimming across their face like he's searching for something. Whatever he finds, he evidently doesn't like: his face blanches, the skin pulling tight, and just as they're getting ready to ask what the fuck he's looking at, he laughs.
"What... what are you calling yourself?" the little redblood asks, imitating their cadence, and they arch their eyebrows. It's impossible to tell if the playful lilt is mockery, or teasing, or both. "I can't just call you OA."
"Sure you can." They're not entirely sure why he laughed, and the uncertainty makes their words sharp: there's nothing worse than being left out of a joke. "The fuck is wrong with OA?"
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He angles his head back to peer up at them, his weird, mismatched eyes skimming across their face like he's searching for something. Whatever he finds, he evidently doesn't like: his face blanches, the skin pulling tight, and just as they're getting ready to ask what the fuck he's looking at, he laughs.
"What... what are you calling yourself?" the little redblood asks, imitating their cadence, and they arch their eyebrows. It's impossible to tell if the playful lilt is mockery, or teasing, or both. "I can't just call you OA."
"Sure you can." They're not entirely sure why he laughed, and the uncertainty makes their words sharp: there's nothing worse than being left out of a joke. "The fuck is wrong with OA?"