A thirteen year old girl, black hair back in a low business-like ponytail walks into the room. She stops, black booted feet planted solidly on the floor, and glares around
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"He thinks," Helen says with a coldness particularly emphasized to show she does not share the same opinion, "that he must wander the worlds to keep them safe. As if he is competent enough!"
There's a moment in which she looks genuinely distressed, before she looks away and sets her jaw again. "It will just be hard, for him. He cares too much about people."
"No," Helen snaps. "It'll just make it hard. He'll get lonely, and he's not good at being lonely.
"They made us wander, so now that They are gone we can go Home." Helen says this dryly, like she thinks Epimetheus should already know this. Everyone has the mythology of her 'verse down pat, of course.
"No one's good at lonely." He looks wry. "Trust me."
He shakes his head. "Sorry. Gotcha. I shoulda put those together. You -- startled me with the Uquar thing. Why can't you wander with Jamie? At least some of the time."
She lets go of her shirt sleeve, and raises her hand up, it's back to him. "I am Haras-uquara, the Hand of Uquar. My duty is to my Home. I have no time to wander, and when I do my age will make it impossible."
He glances down at his whiskey, pushes it aside, leans on his elbows.
"See, I went wandering for a long time, mostly 'cause I didn't like most of my family and I didn't think they liked me, and I just wanted to drop out of everyone's sight for a while. Including Medusa's, and her sisters, and they were some of the few people I did like, then. And eventually I turned up on their doorstep one day and they told me what an idiot I'd been."
He's looking at Helen closely, although his tone suggests he's only half here -- the other half is off in memory.
"And the thing was, when I was wandering -- when I went back to wandering, after that, 'cause I don't really go home anymore -- knowing that there was someone anywhere who'd tell me what an idiot I'd been and take me in anyway . . . that made the wandering easier."
They're brown, though. And the soles probably do not bear too close an inspection.
Their owner is making the acquaintance of a shot of whiskey, with his eyes closed to enjoy it better.
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There's a moment in which she looks genuinely distressed, before she looks away and sets her jaw again. "It will just be hard, for him. He cares too much about people."
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He cocks his head and leans his elbows on the table -- a little more casual, a little less tense, no less focused.
"You think caring about people is gonna make him incompetent?"
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"They made us wander, so now that They are gone we can go Home." Helen says this dryly, like she thinks Epimetheus should already know this. Everyone has the mythology of her 'verse down pat, of course.
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He shakes his head. "Sorry. Gotcha. I shoulda put those together. You -- startled me with the Uquar thing. Why can't you wander with Jamie? At least some of the time."
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She lets go of her shirt sleeve, and raises her hand up, it's back to him. "I am Haras-uquara, the Hand of Uquar. My duty is to my Home. I have no time to wander, and when I do my age will make it impossible."
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Still, he's calm when he asks, "So can Jamie visit you? Or is that gonna distract too much from your duty?"
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She breaks off, and glowers. "It just makes me mad."
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"You sound just like one of my cousins." He quirks a rueful smile. "And you're both right, of course."
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She might be misremembering. Everyone talks about cousins here, and it's confusing.
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He hesitates, then kicks out one of the chairs across from him. "Look, sit down, you're upset."
Sometimes Epimetheus is slow with the whole social graces thing.
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Helen's voice is faintly approving.
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He glances down at his whiskey, pushes it aside, leans on his elbows.
"See, I went wandering for a long time, mostly 'cause I didn't like most of my family and I didn't think they liked me, and I just wanted to drop out of everyone's sight for a while. Including Medusa's, and her sisters, and they were some of the few people I did like, then. And eventually I turned up on their doorstep one day and they told me what an idiot I'd been."
He's looking at Helen closely, although his tone suggests he's only half here -- the other half is off in memory.
"And the thing was, when I was wandering -- when I went back to wandering, after that, 'cause I don't really go home anymore -- knowing that there was someone anywhere who'd tell me what an idiot I'd been and take me in anyway . . . that made the wandering easier."
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