Taggin' and Threadin'

Though he and the other four had officially moved into Fraggle Home, there was still a lot of work to be done. At the moment it was some unpacking. Whatever remained of his and Wembley's room- which, since Wembley had only a spare shirt, was all Gobo's stuff -was laying around him in assorted crates and sacks. This wasn't a part he felt like doing, but it'd be better to get it over and done with.

Pulling a crate over to himself, he looked through it and started pulling out books, papers, and maps. Everything was put in its place, though as he went to put a book on a shelf, something slipped out and fell by his knees. He reached for it, then paused when he saw it was addressed to him, then crossed out.

"Uncle Matt's handwriting...?" For a moment, Gobo wondered if it'd been slipped in by Matt during the packing, but no. It looked a bit older than that. He set the book on the shelf and then settled back to unfold the paper, reading through it.

The day was sunny and warm without being overbearing, perfect for a new dad to hang out outside with his son. Gobo was currently laying on his stomach in the grass with his arms folded underneath his chin, ankles crossed behind him. In front of him Frizzle was crawling around, pouncing on dandelion puffs. Occasionally he'd try to eat one, but that would get a firm- but gentle -reprimand and, a good-natured Fraggle even at this stage, he'd just go on with his little gamboling around.

Gobo smiled a little wider, resting his head a bit more on his cheek, watching Frizzle track around the sun-kissed hill. What a perfect day.