it is our own force, all our own force that is still too great for us [leto]

[sebastiansbear]

Sunday lunch comes after church--Madre's attended with her family for decades now and Martel still catches his father looking at her in slight nervous askance, as though he half-suspects she's going to strike up an argument with the parish priest--and it's still a bit odd to have it without Elena and Marcus. He supposes they'll all get used to that

Comments

[hic_vincit]

Given that they haven't met in person before, it might have been a little difficult to pick each other out of the other park-goers - if there were all that many teenage boys inclined to visit the park on one of the last Sundays in summer. Then again, there aren't all that many teenage boys who still climb trees, Leto.

[sebastiansbear]

There aren't, really, although come to think of it Martel is occasionally one of them. It's a fairly quiet afternoon as far as park-goers go, and he makes an educated guess.

"Leto Atreides?"

Martel's accent has a touch of Argentina to it.

[hic_vincit]

"Ah, hello!" Leto drops out of the tree and onto the ground with a stunning lack of concern, landing in a crouch and straightening to dust off his hands on his trousers before offering one to Martel. "You must be Martel."

Leto makes a note of the accent, for later conversation purposes.

[sebastiansbear]

Martel shakes hands like perhaps he was trained to, and he smiles slightly. (He's not good at being casually friendly, or in fact casually anything, and occasionally his attempts at it are as unsettling as the alternatives. Still, Leto's probably not the type to be overly concerned.) "I must be. Pleasure."