#arckade

“Nope,” Parrot rights him and grins. “You're gonna learn to take a spin!”

It might be an inner ear thing, though Ken has no problem landing on his feet usually. It’s just these particular close call spins that seem to drive him to dizziness, even if it’s only one go around. Parrot goes to spin Ken again, determined to get it right this time, but Ken kills their momentum, pressing his back to Parrot's chest. Parrot won’t complain about the warmth and closeness, though he sees it for the transparent trick it is. He holds Ken's arm to his own chest, free hand landing on Ken's hip. Ken’s tail wraps around Parrot’s leg loosely.

“Who needs to spin so much in a dance?” Ken sounds pouty. His cheek is puffing up appropriately from what Parrot can see.

Parrot keeps them moving to the music, an ocean-wave sway he can't help but fall into. Ken's got loose joints— he follows smoothly, no stuttering or freezing up.

“It's important to show the full coloring of your plumage,” Parrot puts on his most serious voice, hooking his chin over Ken's shoulder. “Make a good show of it to attract a mate. Y’know, the works.”

Ken turns his head to stare Parrot down, pulling out his coyest voice to say, “I've already got you. Who more do I need to attract?”

Clever cat. Appealing to Parrot's jealousy is second nature to Ken at this point, and Parrot is nowhere near immune to it. His wings puff up and flare, and in a swift move, he turns Ken back around so that they’re chest to chest, forehead to forehead.

“Nobody,” Parrot kisses him, feels the rumbling, satisfied purr pouring out of Ken’s mouth, the scratchy texture of his tongue as he pulls away. “I'm still going to teach you a proper spin though.”

Ken gawks at him, smacking his shoulder. Clever cat, but Parrot’s a stubborn bird. He tightens his hold on Ken and pulls him back into the rhythm of their dance, an easy one-two step that has them travelling the floor.

“You're evil, Parrot,” Ken says, but he stays in Parrot's arms regardless, dances along regardless.

Wifies glances back at the wide open field behind the house. They're on the porch, Ken dropping by to visit and Wifies filling Parrot's armory of anxiety with tipped arrows. Parrot has been out on the field since Ken got here, shooting at target blocks and hay bale dummies with pumpkin heads. He's been doing it at different distances, from the sky, from horseback, with bows and crossbows and even just by hand. Ken can see how split open the target blocks are becoming because Parrot keeps nailing them right in the center.

“He’s a real deadeye,” Wifies sounds amused, like this is some kind of simple mundanity— it might be, considering the people he’s been hanging around, but Ken is fascinated. “Just ask him about it. And while you're at it, take these; he's running out.”

Wifies hands over a stack of plain arrows.

“Do I look like a delivery boy to you?” Ken grumbles, but he takes the arrows anyway.

“Yes. Now take those to Parrot, please.”

Ken rolls his eyes big and hard just to make sure Wifies sees him do it before heading out to where Parrot is pulling the string of a bow taut. He lets the arrow loose and it cruises through the air, splicing a pumpkin head thirty blocks away right in half. Ken whistles at the sight, the noise carried away by the wind, but Parrot still turns around. Sweat streaks his face and arms, but he doesn’t seem tired at all.

“Hey Ken!” Parrot calls out. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I got here like half an hour ago,” Ken holds the stack of arrows out for Parrot. “Wifies sends these.”

Parrot takes them with a grin, saying. “That was literally my last arrow. How do you think he does that?”

“No clue, just like how I have no clue how you’re such a good shot.”

“Talent,” Parrot says imperiously. Ken punches his shoulder. “Ouch. And practice, of course.”

“Well, how do you aim so well? It’s so windy out here.”

“You just gotta calculate for drag and stuff.”

That’s not a very good explanation at all, and Parrot lifts a hand placatingly before Ken can complain.

“Look, I’ll show you, come here.”

Parrot hands his bow over to Ken, and Ken takes it and notches an arrow.

“Okay, let’s aim—” Parrot points at the hay bale chest of the same dummy from earlier. “—here. Take aim.”

Ken pulls the string, feels the strain of it in his shoulders and back, and points at the dummy.

“So the wind’s coming from your left,” Parrot stands behind Ken and gently adjusts his aim, pulling his elbow down and tilting him a bit. Quietly, into Ken’s ear, he continues, “You’re gonna release in three, two, one.”

Ken does, the sting of the string snapping on his arm negligible next to the heat Parrot is radiating all down his back. The arrow hits surprisingly true, though it’s not as centered as Parrot’s own arrows still lodged into the dummy.

“See,” Parrot murmurs. “Easy as that.”

“Yeah. Easy,” Ken manages to force out.

“I'm not!” Parrot points a stick at Ken, waving it like a wand as Ken descends to hover next to him. “You're just way too into escape rooms. You think everyone is as tapped into escapist stuff as you are. That doesn't make me an idiot.”

Ken rolls his eyes, leaning in to ask, “Are you calling me smart, Parrotx2?”

“You're the smartest escapist I know,” Parrot says, blue green eyes sparkling.

Parrot leans in, and presses a small, gentle kiss to Ken's mouth. Ken indulges, kisses back, keeps their kiss slow and sweet. Parrot smells of the lava that fills half of the room, and he tastes like the jump boost potion he had to make earlier to get to the next room, and he feels like putty against Ken's mouth. Ken pulls back, eyes shut.

“Flattery and kisses will get you nowhere.”

“I really thought that would work,” Parrot groans. “Not even a little hint?”

“Nope.”