#d.matt

"HI UNCLE MATT!" Duck winces slightly as Robin declares the presence of someone they know before he can remind him that even if they're outside- he should probably still use his inside voice. "Uncle Matt- Uncle Matt look I'm Chunky."

"Chucky, buddy, Chucky. I mean, maybe you're a little chunky too. But that's fuel for the chaos, nothin' wrong with it." He drops one hand down, places it atop Robin's head and holds him in place. "Hey Matt." He greets himself after a minute. "As ya can see, me an' the mini-me are keepin' each other on the straight an' narrow tonight." His costume isn't exactly the 'straight and narrow' interpretation of his character, the white shirt across his chest open almost entirely- the mask shaped oddly- to sit over his scars, instead of mirroring the phantom himself. "You an' Hawk plannin' on gettin' in on the pumpkin contest? Me an Robin 're supposed t' catch up with Z here soon and do some carvin'- I just uh. need a few minutes with him unarmed." He declares, Robin practically vibrating in place beside Mal. "He's been downin' candy apples since noon- he might eventually vibrate so fast he clips outta the bounds a' reality an he has his instructions fer bringin' back help." He's more himself, if the joke is any indicator.

@wanderinglcst

"Okay, bud, come on, time out." Duck groans as he steps out onto the sidewalk, bending to pick up his son with a grunt. "I know, the feelins are real big and you ain't sure how t' handle 'em, so we're gonna go somewhere else so you don't make a scene." Robin isn't exactly coherent, the little boy blubbering and squawking about something breaking while he was working on it- enough to tip the scales in his head to cause a breakdown, it seems. It's a few minutes, behind the trailer and away from the hustle and bustle of the festival itself before Duck has him settled again, crouched in front of of the boy and wiping his face with a handkerchief. "There- all better?" He questions, the little boy red-faced and sniffling, but nodding once more. "A'right, now get back to yer spot, okay? Daddy'll catch up in a minute." It's when Robin leaves him, darting back to where he's sat in the dirt with the dog and his flowers, that Duck pulls the joint from behind his ear and his lighter from his pocket, sparking up the end and taking a long drag. He pauses, when he spots Matt looking on from nearby. "Ah don't look at me like that." He chuckles. "This isn't because of him, I don't like that many people around my shit either- difference is, I'm 40, he's 8, so we're not gonna give him any weed." He adjusts, leaning against the trailer with a grunt.

"Hear you an' Hawthorne are livin' together now. Finally get tired a' the sharin' and carin' shit at th' commune?"

@wanderinglcst

Duck's perhaps uncharacteristically sober and... pleasant, today, the Game Warden's usual semi-permanent scowl gone for a somewhat lopsided but still present grin. Whatever's going on, even his truck giving him troubles doesn't seem like it can sour his mood. "Truck's startin' to jerk to the left. I'm not quite sure what's going on but it's pretty harsh even on the one solid stretch of road through town, so I ain't exactly eager to go careening into a tree when they need me to haul a kill outta the woods." He unshoulders his backpack, producing a few rolls of leather and a pelt blanket. "Ain't got much meat to trade off, but I've still got some workable shit, an' a blanket Wren made up that we don't need- keep it, trade it, but I'm givin' it all to ya if you can make ol' faithful over there do her due diligence again."