He squashes any amusement at the sight of Dresden crouched over like a giant-sized seven year old, playing with sidewalk chalk. Because yeah. He's about to fly a goddamn kite.

He unwraps a few feet of string, and sucks on a finger, testing the wind. Gentle. Cool. Maybe a little low, but just about perfect. And here's where he wishes they'd found him a kite in a color scheme other than rainbow.

"Hey, Dresden?" He holds the kite up one-handed, the string with the other, trying to catch the breeze. "Give me a jump?"