Julius clears his throat as he shuts the pantry door behind them, leaving Art standing awkwardly in the small space filled with jars of preserves and hanging herbs. The satyr rubs the back of his neck, clearly searching for the right words.
"Look, Art," he begins, his voice unusually hesitant. "You're... a bright young lad, and Thistle—she’s, well, she’s special. More than special." He shifts his weight uncomfortably.
Art blinks. "Uh... thank you? And of course she is. It’s THISTLE.” As though that explains it.
"Right." Julius gestures vaguely with one hand. "What I mean to say is—of course you know the... uh... technicalities of things. The, you know, ins and outs of the act. No need to go into that. But—” He takes a deep breath and fixes Art with a serious look. “There’s more to it. Respect. Care. Understanding that it’s not just about... urges or impulses. It’s about her, too. Always her."
Art nods slowly, face already starting to burn red. "I—uh—of course. I mean, I’d never—"
"And don’t you dare risk any... complications," Julius adds, his tone firmer. "A child born of carelessness is—well, a joy, sure, but not something you’re ready for."
At that moment, the pantry door swings open, and Bluebell peeks in, her nose twitching mischievously. “What are you two plotting in here?” she asks, her voice singsong.
"Bunny, not now," Julius mutters, but she steps in anyway, holding up two delicate ceramic ornaments from Thistle’s collection: a proud little horse and a stately dog.
"Oh, perfect timing!" she says with a giggle. “See, Art, it’s like this…” She begins to demonstrate in exaggerated, clumsy motions, clinking the ornaments together in increasingly absurd ways.
"Bluebell, for the love of da’an!" Julius groans, face buried in his hands.
Art’s jaw drops as the horse and dog continue their bizarrely narrated encounter. "I—I—"
"And that’s how you make a litter!" Bluebell chirps, setting the ornaments down with a satisfied smile.
Julius shoots her a half-glare, though there’s no real heat to it. “That’s not helping.”
“Sure it is,” Bluebell replies cheerfully. “He’ll remember this forever.”
"I think—I think I got it, thank you!" Art stammers, bolting from the pantry as fast as his feet can carry him.
As the door swings shut, Julius sighs, turning to his wife. “Was that necessary?”
Bluebell grins, her ears twitching. “Absolutely.”
—————