Sufferin' snorkelblatz!

The Crimson Archangel lifted a brow point, hiding a faint grin as Jupiter asked for the Old Tongue equivalent of a few insults. Spoken like a true boy pup. He pretended to ponder as they passed through the great trees, head cocked to the side.

Artashir and Aello hung back a bit, settling into their new roles as his companions, and conversing between themselves in their own strange tongue. He’d have to ask them to teach him, if they would be willing.

Finally, he felt Jupiter had waited long enough and said, simply, “Butthead is Ach ansin. As for the work ‘Jerk’, that one doesn’t have an equivalent in the Old tongue. Would you like to know how to tell your mother ‘I love you’ in the Old Tongue?”

He winked down at the boy without missing a beat, “It may sound mushy, but it’ll win you a lot of points in the ‘Mom won’t skin me alive for whatever I did this time’ skill. And one day… They may be exactly what she needs to hear to get through a hard day.”

How many times in his mother’s most stressed of times had he used those words and seen her eyes fill with tears before she’d drawn him close? So many.