"Afternoon Grandfather," Tristan replied in sympathetic Spanish. He didn't think he'd ever seen Mallos look sleepy before, even his hair didn't look as elegantly ruffled as usual. "You look awful," he grinned. His accent had improved. Tristan turned to look back over his shoulder at the magical weirdness behind him. Apparently even when tired Mallos favoured neatness; the drawing pins filed out through the door in a double-file crocodile. The sight of the shirt fleeing after them was too much. Tristan smother a laugh with his hand; it looked like a reject decoration left over from Halloween. The door clicked quietly closed behind it, very nearly trapping the retreating sleeve. When Tristan turned back to his grandfather his grin was wider than ever.
"Nothing particularly," he said brightly, still in Spanish, "I'd have left and come back later, but I didn't think you'd want your um...little circus..." he gestured to the area of the floor where the pins had been, "getting any worse." Tristan paused thoughtfully, "I don't think the guards would have thanked you either. They almost look as bad as you."

He climbed off the bed and picked his way across the floor to the nearest chair. Tristan threw himself down into it, his body twisting towards the bed and one leg thrown casually over the arm rest.
"I haven't seen you for ages," he explained, keeping a close watch on Mallos' face, "I've missed you." Falling silent Tristan gave his grandfather time to collect himself. He pulled his smaller dagger from its place on his belt and began to spin it lazily between his fingers. After a while he stopped looking at what he was doing and returned his gaze to the bed. The dagger remained trapped in the same repetitive movements, the tip of the blade pointing alternately at floor and ceiling.
"I was getting worried," Tristan resumed, "nothing has exploded, turned into something it shouldn't, disappeared or flown away unexpectedly in at least a month..." he smirked, "it's been awful."

Tristan swapped the dagger into his other hand, balancing it on his index finger just beneath the hilt. It balanced perfectly.
"There was um...something else..." he began, glancing down at the floor with an uncharacteristic awkwardness. Tristan's next words came quickly, almost falling over one another in his haste to get them all out "I know no one else has asked, or been by, and I hope you guys work things out soon but I um...I was going to ask to meet the baby." He didn't usually have much interest in babies but this one was family. It felt different somehow. "Not now, obviously," he laughed, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the little bundle beside Mal, "next time she's awake...and not screaming, preferably."

A tightness pulled at his chest. A feeling of guilt had been growing steadily in his stomach ever since they'd brought Croe in. He'd caught a glimpse of her face as they'd moved her from the dungeon to the little room on the third floor. She'd seen her before. He'd tried telling his father, he'd even tried to tell his aunt, but they'd both been so furious he hadn't managed it. Tris hadn't wanted to make anything worse. He took a deep breath.
"There's also something I think I should tell you..." Tris ventured, "but don't...don't be angry with me, okay?"

Tristan
_{the only thing left are the stars}