[title because sometimes you just can't improve upon a direct quote]
The Brawn wants to talk. The Brawn pretty much always wants to talk, unless he's absorbed in a video game, and even then, depending upon the game, he's probably more than delighted to keep up a running commentary, whether someone's responding or not.
But it's currently early and I've explained to him that while I love him dearly and would happily throw myself in front of a stampeding giraffe to save him if needed, that right now, it's imperative that I have my coffee before I'm ready to converse.
He nods. Given how how he sometimes feels the need to concentrate on a game, he understands...in theory. He's a great kid, he wants to do the right thing, but sometimes when you're a kid—and sometimes even when you're not—your body and/or your brain just has ever so much trouble doing what at least one of them knows is the right thing.
So he whispers, or more accurately, pseudo-whispers. "d. a. d."
[The Brawn is big into spelling these days.]
I look up, somewhat grumpily. "Yes?"
“Can you put on ‘Ramsy in Blues’?”
This is not what I had expected. I assumed a request for something sweet to eat, the kind of thing I pretty much never give him but his mother often does. “What?"
“Can you put on ‘Ramsy in Blues’?”
I look at him for a while, as my brain tries to boot up and start running its translation program.
“…'Rhapsody in Blue’?"
“Yeah."
I stare at him for a bit.
"Or...or is that too loud?" he says softly, his big blue eyes wide open and full of just oodles and boodles of understanding.
Oh, he's good.
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