Trumpet’s only ever been a guest in the eight short years of his life.
The moment he tumbled free from his shell, he was a guest of the Federation, and lived his first seven years of his life under the premise and hope that he would someday leave.
Four days he was a guest in the light with Maxo, not nearly enough to settle in. The next six days were spent leaving - very slowly, but leaving. And then not even death had encouraged him to put down roots in her domain; the hours and hours he spent there were basically just her convincing him to leave. He’d tried to resign himself in the following months to being a more permanent guest of the Federation, but that fantasy had ended up as shattered as his shoulder. And now he’s here.
Trumpet likes his new toys. He likes playing with his dolls. He likes cuddling his plushies. He likes sitting down and building his huge new puzzles on the floor. Sometimes Maxo or Dan or Pierre or any arrangement of the three will come and work on the puzzles with him, and that makes him happy.
He likes wearing his new clothes. The first week, he’d sometimes change multiple times in one day. He likes waking up and getting to decide what he looks like. He likes smelling like good soap and having pretty, soft hair.
He likes making machines with his Papa. Pierre doesn’t sleep at the house anymore, but he still comes over every day, and Trumpet’s gradually starting to get more confident as a helper. Pierre is endlessly patient and quick to praise, and it makes Trumpet feel like he can do anything.
He likes hanging out with Dan. It's always willing to play with him, or build with him, or read to him. Sometimes he brings shiny rocks or pretty flowers and sits next to Trumpet and tells them all about the mod that they’re from, and Trumpet likes to sit and listen.
He’s starting to like food again, more than just soup. Maxo cooks and it smells good and it tastes like somebody caring. She sings weird little songs in the kitchen while Trumpet sits sneakily just on the other side of the doorway and listens and giggles, pressing his hands right over his mouth. Sometimes she gets quiet right after he giggles, but then she starts singing again, so it’s probably just a coincidence.
Between Maxo’s overflowing affection, Pierre’s steady positivity, and Dan’s quiet company, Trumpet slowly starts to live his life under the assumption that somebody will be there if he needs something. And he still views it as transient, but not in the way where he’s expecting it to go away. It’s more that transience is all he’s ever known. Trumpet’s Not-Eight-Ification has left him living squarely in the present, and the present is pretty damn good.
He’s more worried about the fact that he, as a humble guest, doesn’t have anywhere to keep all of his cool new shit that isn’t in the way - and no way to pack it all up if he needs to leave.
origamiaround
2087
prguitarman
titsay
