Aw, now. That was still achievin' somethin', wasn't it? Don't you sell yourself short, Marco. We did good with that. Folks are always goin' to be mad about somethin'.

[He kisses Marco's temple softly. His tongue flicks against the skin there as he pulls back, an affectionate-if-snaky gesture. The way Marco smells now is especially nice. Marco's always tasted good to him but now, as a nephilim, he's even more attractive to the part of Fiddleford that parses everything by how it smells.]

It's why one of us has to remember things like this, right? To balance it out.

[He doesn't mind it being him. He knows that out of the two of them he's the less scatterbrained, which is a new situation for him in all honesty.]