An Offering

Things were weird and so was Tate, and that was good enough. Tate was weird. Tate could be weird. Frankly, Tate was good with that. Tate, he was trying that out, or at least he would if he was going to meet someone new. Potato was a lot, and frankly... hell, it was a silly name. Tate made him sound like a badass. It made him sound cool. He was Tate, not Potato. Still rather potato-shaped, growing out of that puppy fat. Maybe it was the puppy fat that had slowed him down, and maybe that was why he was running late to prepare for that feast.

His siblings had to have put together something cooler. Meanwhile, Tate had picked up every reasonably-cool looking flower he'd found along the way as he tripped towards the site of the altar. They were stuffed haphazardly, yet charmingly, into his mouth while he walked. He'd do his best to catch up, but let's be real-- when had Tate ever been fast enough for that? Still, somewhere up ahead he caught a flash of blue. Who was blue? Who even was that? Tate found himself staring, clutching at still-more flowers as he went. He was doing his best to figure out who belonged to the figure up ahead.

Until the figure caught him staring. Nope, certainly wasn't someone he knew. Still, he did his best to come up with some kind of composed answer. A charming smile around the messy bouquet, or as charming as he could manage. "Looks like we had the same idea, great minds hm?" And a little quirk of his brows. The blue boy, at this distance, was clearly older. A yearling, at least. Maybe he had his shit together, or at least, more than Tate did.
"Potato"