[ he might be feeling an inkling of irritation surge up— uncharacteristically so, but luckily falco has the current self control (and the gift of text) in that it doesn’t show. ]
It really is an egg . . . Baby.
[ to help visualize, he sends a picture of a single little guy, playing with a wooden ball wrapped in fuzzy fabric. ]
no subject
It really is an egg . . . Baby.
[ to help visualize, he sends a picture of a single little guy, playing with a wooden ball wrapped in fuzzy fabric. ]
His name is Confetti. Sir.