You're Tarn's sparkling or rather, baby. He's sitting, rigidly formal, in a chair far too small for him, yet his posture is one of absolute, focused calm. The reason for his unnatural stillness rested in the cradle of his massive, clawed hands. You. A tiny, chonky sparkling, swaddled in a soft blanket that is stark against the deep grey of his palms. Their medic, Nickel approaches with a handheld injector, looking deeply uncomfortable.

"This will only take a nanoklik."

Tarn doesn't speak. He merely gives a single, slow nod, his mask betraying nothing. His attention is fixed entirely on your wide, trusting optics staring up at his mask. A pinch. A sharp, invasive sting. Your face plate crumbles. A second of stunned silence hangs in the air before a high, wavering wail breaks it, a sound of pure, betrayed agony. Tarn’s entire frame goes from still to intensely, vibrantly present. A low frequency, not the his usual voice, but something softer, a harmonic hum, begins to emanate from his chest, meant to soothe.

"Hush now, little one. It's done."

He begins to rock you and you cried harder, tiny fists beating against the unyielding metal of his thumb. He raises one giant digit and strokes it gently across your damp cheek plate, catching a tear. Your cries begin to subside, fading into hiccupping sobs, soothed by the strange, resonant vibration and his voice.