WHO: James Holden and YOU WHAT: Catch-all for April WHEN: Fantasy April WHERE: The Gallows and Kirkwall, mostly, but around NOTES: Starters in the comments, lmk if you'd like something bespoke or feel free to drop in a wildcard.
"Something like that," he admits, considering the admission that he only sent messages to one of his mothers. Aenor might be interested, he thinks, but he's not sure he wants to get into that story.
So, instead, "I can't imagine Caric not coming back to see you."
They have a clear bond, Aenor and her son, and he wouldn't take his mother somewhere and abandon her.
"Nor I--" a ready agreement, all cheer--"unless my dear son, he was kept from me. And then, I think, I would find him."
It's her turn, certainly, to rescue the poor boy from loneliness. Fortunately, it seems an unlikely turn of events; Caric will no doubt find himself plenty of mischief, but he's quite adept at getting himself out of such entanglements as well.
"And your mother, what of her?" It occurs to her, after she asks, that he might not want to speak of her when he's so far from home. But it's asked, and Aenor's got no intention of taking it back.
He laughs, makes to duck from her splash, raising an arm and dropping it.
"Of course not," he says in a tone that's very much I wouldn't dare suggest that. And then shrugs. "Well, when eight people love each other very much — "
" — they decide to have a son," he goes on, undeterred and amused, "and cash in on a tax break that allows them a parcel of land."
It's gotten easier, the longer he's been here, to sometimes talk about his family. To, every so often, bring up Montana. He misses the farm, but not as much as the Roci, and the tight knot of shame he used to feel about leaving has eased over the last year or so.
Her brow furrows. Taxes, she knows, if distantly--they seem like a human concern to her, or at least a settled one. (Perhaps they'll be necessary now, living in one spot. She's not entirely sure.) But--"A 'tax break'?"
"A strange trade, I think," she says, after some consideration. To anyone in Thedas, it might seem like an odd proposition (nobles, perhaps, excluded), but to someone who's never set store by land, coming from a country where the problem is too much land, too many vast, unlivable stretches of desert...
Ah, well. He doesn't seem particularly bothered by this fact of his existence. So, sly-edged, her answer is, "But theirs was good fortune. A deal, this is what they ask for, and they receive James Holden."
"You'll make me blush," he says, dry, but not unappreciative. "If you ever had a chance to meet them, I think you'd have some interesting conversations."
He could see her and mother Elise getting on like a house on fire, for instance.
"You will tell me, I hope, if they come here." To sate her curiosity, if nothing else. And because anyone who produced this man must be worth at least one conversation. "And my son, I will introduce you to him. One day."
In the meanwhile, though, idly combing a wet hand through her hair, "That scar of yours, it is new?"
To both things; though, Christ, he hopes his family never appears here. Thedas is certainly stressful enough without having to worry about what might happen to his parents.
"Hm?" And then he has to look down to remind himself, and, oh yeah. "Souvenir from my first mission with Riftwatch, actually."
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So, instead, "I can't imagine Caric not coming back to see you."
They have a clear bond, Aenor and her son, and he wouldn't take his mother somewhere and abandon her.
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It's her turn, certainly, to rescue the poor boy from loneliness. Fortunately, it seems an unlikely turn of events; Caric will no doubt find himself plenty of mischief, but he's quite adept at getting himself out of such entanglements as well.
"And your mother, what of her?" It occurs to her, after she asks, that he might not want to speak of her when he's so far from home. But it's asked, and Aenor's got no intention of taking it back.
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Not unfriendly, though a little evasive, maybe. More than he means to be, really — but also an honest question. What does she want to know?
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But he's clearly teasing; of course she hasn't, who in Thedas would?
"Three mothers. Five fathers. One of me."
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Where she's gained her familiarity is neither here nor there, of course. Which is why, almost immediately, Aenor adds, "Continue."
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"Of course not," he says in a tone that's very much I wouldn't dare suggest that. And then shrugs. "Well, when eight people love each other very much — "
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It's gotten easier, the longer he's been here, to sometimes talk about his family. To, every so often, bring up Montana. He misses the farm, but not as much as the Roci, and the tight knot of shame he used to feel about leaving has eased over the last year or so.
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Eight adults to one child is easily a sparser ratio than it could be, and they'd been able to take rights to the land before the UN could stop them.
"Which isn't a problem here, I know."
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He leans his weight backwards, resting more against the side of the bath than he had before.
"If they hadn't, it would've all been gone by now."
Easy to recall the bogeymen of his childhood: the land paved over, the forest cut down, the earth bled dry, light and sound pollution —
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Ah, well. He doesn't seem particularly bothered by this fact of his existence. So, sly-edged, her answer is, "But theirs was good fortune. A deal, this is what they ask for, and they receive James Holden."
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He could see her and mother Elise getting on like a house on fire, for instance.
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In the meanwhile, though, idly combing a wet hand through her hair, "That scar of yours, it is new?"
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To both things; though, Christ, he hopes his family never appears here. Thedas is certainly stressful enough without having to worry about what might happen to his parents.
"Hm?" And then he has to look down to remind himself, and, oh yeah. "Souvenir from my first mission with Riftwatch, actually."