Branch considers asking whether they like puzzles but also knows that means continuing to ask about someone Miguel might not want to talk about. He figures the gesture might work best without qualifiers, without prompting Miguel to reveal more that maybe he doesn't want to talk about.
Besides, lots of people like puzzles.
"I'll be right back."
His room isn't exactly close since it's a random hole in the wall but changing size to enable swinging off surfaces or walking where most appropriate helps and he's finding the shifts a little less disorienting after spending the morning practicing.
When he comes back, he has a box in his hands. When he sees Miguel again, he shrugs a shoulder awkwardly. "My grandma and I used to do a puzzle everyday. She loved them and it helped calm me down. I was an anxious kid."
That's what happens when you grow up in a cage surrounded by looming, giant would-be-murderers.
He looks at the box with an expression that's soft and sad. "I've got a little puzzle corner for her where I still go to do them with her." Every day. Like she's still here. "I made a new one here, even though I don't have her picture with me."
He's running off his mouth but he's struggling with feeling vulnerable here too. You can't be kind without leaving your heart wide open after all but the byproduct is leaving his heart even more open, whoops.
"The yetis have been nice enough to remake puzzles at my size if I like them. Although apparently with this new size magic thing I can grow and shrink stuff with me so...here."
He holds the puzzle out. It looks a tiny bit crude, like the yetis had to cut and glue everything, including the box and its cover, with teeny tiny exacto blades or something. Truly they're masters at what they do to actually build puzzles at such a tiny size.
He didn't pick it knowing about Miguel's situation. He missed who he was speaking to. He picked it because it was one of the ones he liked the best. He thinks his grandma would've liked the design too. That's why he requested it.
"I don't know who - uh...or-or if they liked puzzles but -"
He huffs out a little breath, decides he's already talked way too much, thinks better of saying anything else and holds it out and up with both hands.
no subject
Besides, lots of people like puzzles.
"I'll be right back."
His room isn't exactly close since it's a random hole in the wall but changing size to enable swinging off surfaces or walking where most appropriate helps and he's finding the shifts a little less disorienting after spending the morning practicing.
When he comes back, he has a box in his hands. When he sees Miguel again, he shrugs a shoulder awkwardly. "My grandma and I used to do a puzzle everyday. She loved them and it helped calm me down. I was an anxious kid."
That's what happens when you grow up in a cage surrounded by looming, giant would-be-murderers.
He looks at the box with an expression that's soft and sad. "I've got a little puzzle corner for her where I still go to do them with her." Every day. Like she's still here. "I made a new one here, even though I don't have her picture with me."
He's running off his mouth but he's struggling with feeling vulnerable here too. You can't be kind without leaving your heart wide open after all but the byproduct is leaving his heart even more open, whoops.
"The yetis have been nice enough to remake puzzles at my size if I like them. Although apparently with this new size magic thing I can grow and shrink stuff with me so...here."
He holds the puzzle out. It looks a tiny bit crude, like the yetis had to cut and glue everything, including the box and its cover, with teeny tiny exacto blades or something. Truly they're masters at what they do to actually build puzzles at such a tiny size.
He didn't pick it knowing about Miguel's situation. He missed who he was speaking to. He picked it because it was one of the ones he liked the best. He thinks his grandma would've liked the design too. That's why he requested it.
"I don't know who - uh...or-or if they liked puzzles but -"
He huffs out a little breath, decides he's already talked way too much, thinks better of saying anything else and holds it out and up with both hands.