While Nepione steadied him so he wouldn’t tumble arse-over-teakettle, Scratch kept worrying at the hem of his clothes, and he finally had to admit defeat.

“I’d shoved the ball into my bag of holding alongside a few of the others we’d come across. I don’t even know how he could sense that it was there, considering it’s in a pocket dimension. Give me a moment.”

Reshuffling his belongings again, Gale fetched the unassuming little bag and plunged his arm into it, all the way up to his shoulder (a disorienting sight): a look of abstracted concentration crossed his face as he groped around blindly. They picked up so much garbage on the course of their adventures. It was the only way his back wasn’t breaking from all the books he’d shoved in there. While Gale cocked his head and still rummaged around, trying to locate the dog toy, another thought occurred to him:

“Wait, am I Father Number Two? Then who’s Father Number One?” he demanded, brow furrowing in mock suspicion and a little real suspicion as he glanced at Nepione; he was, as ever, perhaps a little too competitive for his own good.