Shango hesitated.

He'd missed an answer to his question--a question that could form a parent-child bond. And he wasn't sure if Thalassa had offered one, and he'd just not realized it, taken it as something else; or if they hadn't heard him, in turn.

"Why are you interested in all of this?" he tried again. And again it was more a question of motivation. "You said it is all old! But why do you care about it?" There was no challenge, no dismissal--only curiosity. And still he tried to help, click-padding over and sniffing at the puddle and the bangle left within.

He plonked down on his haunches as Thalassa continued their search. Claws delicately pulled the bangle from the water--something he cared nothing for, but clearly his child did, so he gave it the most cautious attention as he began to scrape and wipe and paw and even nibble, a little, at the caked-on grime.

When he was done it looked better. Not polished and shiny, but no longer sheathed in old cracked mud.

"Here," he offered, settling it on the ground, the drizzle washing it a little cleaner.

@Thalassa

It was clear that her father didn’t seem to share her point of view. He had given her no illusion - it was something he seemed incapable of, or at the very least, very bad at. She preferred it to the alternative (or she would when interacting with those less forefront about their priorities), but the fundamental conflict made it seem both frustrating and insurmountable. How do you describe the importance of something when you barely have the vocabulary? Telepathy would make things so much easier.

Gathering her little scattered brain, she managed as best an explanation as she could. ”Because old things know more, but they can’t always tell you, which is why we look - find treasure. I wanna know what they do.” Which was everything, no matter how big or confusing.

Her dad was also big and confusing, but she’d rather start small.

She examined the bangle, squinting little pale eyes at the decidedly simplistic design. ”It’s shiny. That’s cool.” But it told her nothing - it was just a circle. She huffed. ”What do we do now?” Maybe Shango could manage to find a way to make the object not the complete time-suck it was beginning to seem.

@Shango

Okay, that... sort of made sense? Shango sure was trying to understand, and he thought he sort of grasped it. The question on the heels of the explanation, however, made him pause, staring at the shiny metal with a scrunched-up face and immense concentration.

And, suddenly, fear of the wrong answer. He didn't want to disappoint his child and now, suddenly, he felt like he might do just that. As if her faint impatience, or haughtiness or whatever he was seeing, was prelude to some grand test of parenthood.

He slowly lowered himself to his haunches, gaze travelling from metal to child and back, hesitant. He wanted to get this right.

"Um... we could guess?" he finally suggested, uncertainty and even nervousness clear in him. He took a breath and steeled himself to continue. "Maybe it belonged to a hero a lot of years ago," he began, plaintive.

Maybe Thalassa would approve of this tactic. Maybe she'd even continue the story. Or maybe she was bored of him, and would go her own way.

Shango felt a sinking in his gut; he already feared he knew the answer.

@Thalassa

His suggestion was met with a look of great scepticism - there's nothing more wondrous than the amount of emotion held on a child's face, and Thalassa appeared to be harnessing all of it. It studied him further for a beat, before relenting, the slacking of its muscles communicating an unenthusiastic submission to the idea. "Sure."

The idea was meek, barebones, barely anything at all. It almost amused her in its uselessness. [she was, indeed, a bit of a dick.] But a strange heavy feeling kept her from dismissing it out of hand. If she did, her father might be hurt, and she didn't want to see him that way. Mostly, she didn't want to deal with the hassle of it - it'd be an awkward walk home.

"Ok... What kind of hero? What did it do?" Her gaze skimmed across the room, looking for material to use in the game of pretend. "What was the circle for? Why was it left here?" Big questions, but perfect material for someone wanting to weave a story for a story's sake. Maybe it'd be nice to hear, and to ponder if any of it could be true at all.

@Shango

Thalassa's reaction was proof that she was, already, smarter than her father. Where he stumbled on his words, unsure, she had correctly grasped his state, applied empathy and responded in a way that would push toward the end result she wanted.

He? He was... fumbling. At best.

He'd never really told a story before, which given how many children he'd raised, said something of his parenting skills. It wasn't for want of trying, though, and after a moment--ghostlight eyes flicking around the tunnel in panic, looking for a story hook of any kind to keep this going--he gave it his best shot.

"Maybe the sort of hero that..." (he racked his brain, searching for memories of good deeds he'd done or seen) "...helped others that were in trouble." His mind had shot to the Hydra trials. But this--this was vague. A good concept, but he was faltering in the execution. "Uh." (Fidget.) "If someone was... hot, in the desert," and he was going too literal here, unable to extrapolate, to create a new story from old experience. "Maybe they brought rain? And... they wore the metal thing," (his eyes fell on it) "around a leg?"

...He couldn't come up with more. He hesitated.

"I'm not good at stories," he admitted, with a little huffing sigh of surrender.

@Thalassa