sampippy | A Dorm Room at Voorhees Hall, Columbia University, New York, Sunday

"Yes," he said quietly. "The answer to the question in your eyes is yes. I am my mother's son in truth."

He let out a breath of a laugh. "I should perhaps say the answer to both questions in your eyes."

The dromonde was strong in him, too. And came when he called - and sometimes when he did not - thanks to his mother's teachings.

"Oh."

Well, she'd already put it together herself, but there was still something in her that was surprised that he'd actually confirm it. To her.

But there was also something in her that reminded her that she was completely outside his world, so it wasn't as if her knowing would pose much of a threat to him.

His hand was still between hers. She went to lace her fingers with his. "How does that... feel, I guess? Looking through time."

Hyacinthe blinked at her a moment - and then smiled. "No one's ever asked me that before," he said, almost a little shyly. "Tis a humbling thing. For a moment, there is just this feeling of vastness, like staring at the sea. Time is so big and I am so very small. But then I see what 'twas I was meant to and that feeling vanishes."

Xanthippe thought briefly about the beach in Fandom, and all the times she'd stood on it, staring out across the water like it could clear her head and rid her of whatever was annoying or bothering her. Because it was so big and she was tiny.

She wouldn't dream of claiming she got it, but at least she had some faint guess? Tiniest idea? Something. Whatever.

Almost-shy on Hyacinthe put a weird flutter inside her chest. "I can't believe no one's asked." Well, she could - since it was such a secret, that kinda limited who even could. "That's so cool. But, like, also kind of terrifying?"

"A bit, yes," Hyacinthe agreed. "It's so very much. But 'tis familiar, too. It's my people's heritage, from the time of Elua. So it almost feels like it... recognizes me? Or perhaps I recognize it?"

"Makes sense." In its own way. Her words were soft, and so was her quiet snort. The shake of her head, too, kind of. "I can't really imagine being that connected to... anything, really."

But especially when it came to feeling any kind of a heritage that wasn't just a burden.

"Tsingano have no homeland," Hyacinthe said softly. "All we have are our traditions to link us."

"I think that might be better than what we have," Xanthippe offered with a little shrug. "I mean, just, my family? Like, my dad has Christoph Voorhees's pipe and some other junk of his that he keeps in his study because --" And here she adopted a deeper, sterner voice, trying to mimic her father. "-- 'it's our history, Xanthippe', but..."

She trailed off, glancing away, then shrugged.

"Doesn't really mean anything. It's just stuff that used to belong to someone with the same last name as me."

"'Tis the kind of thing that nobles do," Hyacinthe teased gently. "Nay, though. For us, 'tis living history. The only history we have. We cannot put down roots, so we have only the tapestry we weave from our stories and traditions."

Xanthippe looked over at him gain, quirking a crooked little smile at his teasing.

"Think that's it," she said. "Living versus dead things." The building they were in was kind of a monument to her family's history, and you could've argued it was a living thing because of all the students literally living in it, but... Nah. "I like that you have that."

Then her nose wrinkled up as a bout of self-consciousness hit. "Does that, I mean, is that okay to say? Maybe that's not really for me to say."

"You are pleased for me, that there is something that I have," Hya said softly. "That is what friends do; they are pleased for all the good things that are in each other's lives."

"Yeah but it sounds like I'm like, judging your culture, even though I'm like being nice about it," she replied, still with a slight frown. "I don't know if that's right."

No, she was just overthinking it.

"I disagree," Hyacinthe said, giving the concept some thought. He disagreed with it even without thinking, but since it was something Xanthippe was concerned about, he wouldn't just dismiss the idea out of hand. "Perhaps 'twould be different had you said that what we have now makes up for what we have lost, or aught among those lines, but you didn't. I shared a bit about my culture and it made you happy. I take no insult from that."

"Okay," Xanthippe said, nodding, and seeming appeased at least. Or like her random fear had beeb appeased, anyway. "Sorry."

Then she snorted at how lame that sounded.

Her ensuing smile was crooked, too. "I'm really bad at this."

"Really bad at what, exactly?" Hyacinthe challenged, though his tone was gentle. "And what is it that you're rating yourself against, 'tis what I'd like to know."

Xanthippe didn't lose the smile: she just added some exasperation to it.

"Being normal." There, that was a thing that was a scale and a measuring stick all on its own. Her right hand left his to creep up to her left shoulder. A self-conscious gesture she didn't fully realize she was doing. "Having... friends."

"I am hardly normal," Hya pointed out. "Not for your world or mine. And as for friends..."

He shook his head, uncertain if she'd really want to hear the entirety of his opinion. "'Tis hard to make them when you're unhappy, if naught else."

For a second there, Xan'd been fully prepared to hear him say - against all evidence - that they weren't actually friends.

When he didn't, she flopped against the back of the couch with a huff. "Well I know that."

See: her attempts at making friends, elementary school through to present day.

If Hya knew she'd been worried about that, he probably would have done something drastic.

Sexual, most likely, but also drastic.

"When you look for friends, what is it you look for?" he asked, curious.

Sadly, she might've found it too mortifying to share that with him. Veered a little too far into her more neurotic insecurities.

She gave his question a squirmy sort of shrug. Like she was uncomfortable with having to say, "I don't know." Which she did say, anyway. "I mean, it used to just be cool people? Like, regardless of if they were like, nice or whatever."

A beat.

"Or if I even liked them. Or if they even liked me." Though that last one was a crapshoot anyway, because she'd done everything in her power to push parts of herself down to fit in.

"I think, then, 'tis not surprising you've found it hard to make friends," Hyacinthe said, though not unkindly. "You were throwing seeds upon cobblestones, cherie, and waiting to see what would sprout. But that does not mean that there is aught wrong with you. Just your aim."

"And my aim isn't a part of me?"

She was asking just to be a brat.

"Ahh, but aim can be improved," Hya said immediately. "So 'tis not an indelible part of you."

Good save!

"But it is still a part of me." He'd just said so! Indelible or not! "And it needs changing, which means that I need changing, which means there is something wrong with me."

Though for once, she was now arguing that just to one-up him.

And she looked smug about it, to boot.

Yes," Hyacinthe said solemnly. "'Tis your desire to be a brat to the poor, naked, sex-stupid man beside you."

Well, he tried for solemn. Ended up laughing anyway.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject