The Maiden, chapter fifteen
Sep. 8th, 2009 09:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeShe lives, she writes, she has most of chapter sixteen written! She apologizes again and swears to stop getting this behind on comments! She CURSES REAL LIFE! She posts:
When Rita opened the door of Sean's bedroom, she found him writing at the desk; he looked up as she came in, though, and slid off his chair at once, kneeling down and bowing his head low. To Rita's surprise and pleasure, he didn't seem frightened at all, and as she came closer he looked up at her with such infectious joy on his face that an answering smile bloomed on her own before she knew it.
He reached for the hem of her robe and, in a charmingly old-fashioned gesture-- had his mother suggested it?-- touched it to his lips. She laughed and knelt down beside him, letting a hand caress his cheek as he beamed at her.
"Thank you," he said softly.
"You're welcome," she said, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "I'll try to arrange for another visit very soon. Possibly-- would you like to go back to your mother's house to visit? She mentioned that your father still lives there-- I don't know if-- yes?"
"Yes, please," he breathed.
"Then I'll arrange it." Rita smoothed Sean's short, bristly hair. "Perhaps a longer visit than today's-- some day your mother doesn't have to work. Come down to lunch now, dear."
She helped him up, and, rather impulsively, slipped her hand into his larger one to lead him from the room. His hand closed on hers with a sudden tight pressure that touched her unexpectedly-- it was like the clutching of Adele's baby fingers, or like Carol's small hot hand when she'd first been learning to walk, seizing the nearest steady object and demanding that it hold her up. She squeezed Sean's hand back as they walked down to the kitchen.
The fear was there again as Rita looked around the kitchen table. None of them had moved from their chairs-- she didn't encourage elaborate obeisance, which seemed like a waste of time to her-- but they watched her, frozen, like mice at a cat's approach, praying not to be noticed, as Sean slid into his chair next to Kyle. Even Kyle's heart was pounding. Only Sean, still blissful in the aftermath of his mother's visit, seemed unaffected by the general terror.
"I'm not here to reprimand any of you," she said, in a tone whose gentleness was well practiced. She didn't relish men's fear; it disturbed her, made her uncomfortable, as if her power were an unwieldy and highly visible weapon that was useful enough on the battlefield but worryingly out of place in the kitchen where the men she protected ate the food she provided. She should be able to come here without frightening them.
And she had, before-- not without a pulse of nervousness from them, of course, but she didn't usually inspire this milk-whiteness of face and coldness of hands. It must be that they knew Bonnie had heard them talking about Viviane, and were afraid of punishment for their idle gossip.
"I wanted to speak with all of you," she said, "for two reasons. The first is that I want to make Kyle's new position official. He is no longer a potential father to my child, and therefore he is not under the restrictions unique to that position. He is still very much under my protection, as are all of you."
A flicker of emotion from Drew, but not from anyone else; they were all still tense, still as statues.
"The second reason," she continued, "is that I understand there has been some amount of gossip about my late sister, Viviane, and the way she met her death."
She'd been right; the fear thickened till it was almost palpable. Jonas looked as if he were going to faint.
"I'm sure none of you meant any harm," she said, trying to muster her most soothing, least menacing tones. "But since it has come to my attention, I ask all of you to refrain from speaking of my sister's death in the future. You know nothing of the matter or of its significance, and since those of us who do have chosen not to speak of it, you would be wise to do the same."
"Could you tell us?" asked Sean.
Rita turned to him, jarred less by his question than by the sensation of every other heart in the room simultaneously skipping a beat. He shrank back, and when she reached out to him he opened his mouth as if to cry out, but when she laid her hands on his shoulders he stilled with a little hiccuping shiver.
"No," she said, rubbing his shoulders reassuringly. "I wish no one knew-- I wish it hadn't happened-- but since it did, all we can do is try to forget about it. And certainly not talk about it. Trust me-- it's for your own good as much as anyone's."
"Yes, magistra," said Sean, leaning into her touch, more relaxed than she'd expected-- more relaxed than Kyle had been at her touch, earlier. "It's just that-- if we knew-- then we'd know why it was important not to talk about it."
Her hands stayed steady on his shoulders, massaging them, though she was a little shocked at his daring. She couldn't quite figure Sean out-- she knew what Emily would make of this arguing, on top of his disobedience earlier, but he didn't seem defiant to her at all. There was no insolence in his manner, no demanding tone, and yet he kept speaking after she'd said no. Rita wondered if this was how he'd spoken to his mother; she seemed affectionate enough towards him to have permitted it. Rita thought, if she had a son of her own someday, she might not mind if he spoke to her this way.
She didn't really mind when Sean did it, either. It was nice to think that, though neither of them could quite forget the weapon she was holding, he wasn't afraid of it right now.
"You know that it's important," she said, very gently, "because I tell you it's important."
At that he fell silent-- but he still felt relaxed under her hands, and somehow that pleased her very much. The other men seemed less afraid, too.
"That's all I wanted to say," she said, and turned and left, an eddy of confusion and interest swirling behind her.
Back in the parlor, bearing refreshments, she found Carol playing peek-a-boo with Adele as Emily watched benevolently.
"Hi, Aunt Rita," said Carol.
"Hello, Carol," said Rita, setting down the tray of tea and sandwiches on the table. "Have you been catching up with Aunt Emily?"
"Yes," said Carol, as she helped herself to a sandwich. "She says you're mad at Kyle."
Rita looked at Emily.
"I did not say that," said Emily. "I said you'd emotionally withdrawn from Kyle, which you patently have-- and I for one think that's a good thing."
"Do you think it's something that needs to be discussed with my thirteen-year-old ward?" Rita asked quietly.
"I'm sorry," said Emily, reaching for the teapot. "I didn't realize it was a secret."
"It's not a secret." Rita sat down. "And anyway, it's only to be expected, isn't it? Now that Sean's moved into his place."
"It's more recent than that," said Emily.
"Well, maybe it just took me some time to get used to the idea."
"Did Kyle try to kill Sean?" Carol asked.
"Carol!" Rita was appalled. "Where would you get such an idea?"
Carol shrugged, jiggling one foot restlessly, and bit off about half her sandwich at once.
"But what has he done?" Emily asked. "Nothing wrong, all right, but there's something. And it can't be that his hostility towards Sean is bothering you, because, well--"
"Because well what?" Carol demanded, her mouth not exactly full but not exactly empty either, looking from one aunt to the other.
"He isn't hostile to Sean any more," said Emily, and sipped her tea. "He's decided to be protective instead. Which you'd think would endear him even more to your sentimental aunt."
"Carol, you may leave the room," said Rita.
"No, no, let her stay," said Emily, as Carol, who had just swallowed, choked and gaped in inarticulate indignation. "I'll stop talking about it. Tell me about the ceremony instead. What went wrong?"
"Sean disobeyed Aunt Rita!" Carol burst out immediately, as if she'd been dying to tell someone who would share her righteous disbelief. "She ordered him to stand still and he walked right out of the circle and he was so bad and Kyle was there and Kyle was so mad and mean and it was really really hard not to hurt either of them but I did it, I was really good, but Aunt Rita made me leave."
"I'm proud of you for holding control," said Emily, smiling at her. "That must have been very difficult."
"It was," said Carol. "Sean deserved to be punished."
"That's for his protectrix to decide," Emily reminded her. "And your Aunt Rita has a very soft heart where men are concerned. That's why Kyle runs and hides his head in her skirt whenever big, bad Aunt Emily comes to visit."
Carol giggled as Emily added in the same facetious tone, "I wonder how much longer he'll be allowed to do that?"
"Maybe he'll have to hide his head in somebody else's skirt!" said Carol, still giggling.
Rita raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"
"If you don't want him any more," said Carol, seeming inordinately amused by the prospect, "he'll have to get a new protectrix, won't he?"
"Out from the mouths of babes and sucklings," said Emily, and took another sip of tea.
Rita, who had been on the point of speaking sharply to Carol, turned, surprised. "Isn't that from the God's Bible?"
"Is it? I thought it was a Hilda Helensdottir poem." Emily shrugged the shoulder Adele wasn't strapped to. "Maybe she was quoting."
"Kyle is not one whit less under my protection than he was before," said Rita to Carol, deciding to ignore Emily for the moment. "He's done nothing to deserve my withdrawing it. And you aren't to speak to him of this. I don't want you frightening him."
"Yes, ma'am," said Carol, meekly enough.
"And now," said Rita, "I'd like us to talk about something else. How about the weather?"
"Yes," said Emily. "Let's hope it will improve now that Julia Megsdottir has been reunited with her beloved son."
"How about Carol's education?" said Rita, and as Carol immediately launched into a description of the latest (terribly long, terribly boring) book she'd been required to read, Emily gave Rita the faintest suggestion of a grin.
After Emily had gone, without ever having exactly explained why she'd come, Rita asked Carol to clear away the tea things-- Carol didn't grumble; she never minded helping-- and retreated to her office, where she noticed a message flashing on her hand mirror and picked it up. It was a woman she'd never seen before, looking extremely nervous.
"Magistra," she began. "This is Martha Lynsdottir, the directrix of the district men's center. I am-- more than sorry-- for any inconvenience you have suffered. I have checked the records very thoroughly-- myself-- and I have no official discipline reports for the male you chose. Nothing that would indicate any problems. I can only conclude that the guards have been-- woefully lax. Please, at your earliest convenience-- I would be more than pleased to meet with you. Whenever your busy schedule permits."
Rita raised an eyebrow at the reflection as it made a few more compliments and apologies before fading out. At least the woman was worried, as she well should be, after what had happened to Sean and probably any number of other unprotected males on her watch.
She unlocked a drawer of her desk, and from among the five silver chain bracelets that lay inside, chose two, setting them side by side on the desk. She examined the charms on each-- one, which she'd ordered in between choosing Sean at the center and picking him up two weeks later, was still almost entirely blank, except for the engraved name. The other bore an assortment of charms-- a charm of protection, a charm that would ensure Rita knew the wearer's location at all times, charms to pick up on changes in his heartbeat or breathing, and charms to ensure that that any other woman who examined the bracelet would recognize the seal of Rita's protection and the status the wearer bore in her household.
The trouble was that Kyle, whose bracelet also bore his name engraved on a smooth, shining silver tab, no longer had that particular status, "potential father"; she'd need to transfer that part of it to Sean's bracelet, as well as duplicating the standard charms for protection and location and basic monitoring. That would leave Kyle's bracelet without an indication of status, which would look odd-- but what alternative status could she give him? She was reluctant to downgrade him to "worker," but none of the other standard designations applied-- not "daughter's father," not "son's father," certainly not "son." There must be other women who kept infertile men under their protection out of sheer affection for them, but they must designate them as "workers," that convenient catchall phrase for male occupations other than the all-important one of child-siring.
She could always invent a new designation-- something along the lines of "companion," perhaps-- but it occurred to her that Kyle might actually prefer "worker." After all, Drew was a worker, too.
She decided to delay the decision for now; it wasn't as if she had immediate plans to be sending Kyle out anywhere. She did want to finish Sean's bracelet, though, so that any visit to his mother wouldn't be delayed by practical considerations, and she turned her attention to the task, glad to have something technical to focus her attention on. Men were too complicated for her right now.
The bracelet finished, she caught up on her other correspondence before calling the directrix of the center back. The woman swam into focus on her mirror almost immediately, looking twice as anxious as before.
"Magistra," she said. "This is an honor-- though an unfortunate occasion. Let me apologize again--"
"Please don't," said Rita. "I'd rather discuss meeting times."
Sean was in his room when she checked, writing again at the desk. He started to get up, but she waved him back down.
"To whom are you writing?" she asked him, though she thought it must be to his mother; his eagerness to correspond with her was touching.
"You," said Sean.
Rita smiled, surprised. "To me?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Sean. "But, I mean, it's not finished yet."
"I'll wait to read it, then," said Rita. "I stopped in to tell you that I'm going out again. To the men's center."
Sean looked surprised, and not a little dismayed, and Rita realized what she'd said.
"Not to choose anyone, this time," she reassured him, and he seemed to relax. "But I didn't like what you told me about your treatment at the center-- I'd like to make sure other men aren't treated the same way. So I'm going to discuss it with the directrix."
"Oh," said Sean, looking no less surprised than before, but his eyes shone suddenly with a less-definable emotion as they stayed fixed on her face.
"Do you want to go with me?" Rita asked.
Sean's eyes widened to about twice their natural size, and he bit his lip.
"I wouldn't leave you alone, of course," said Rita. "But since you're the one who knows firsthand of the poor management, I thought to take you along. Not if you'd rather not, though."
"I'd rather not," said Sean in a low voice, and added, "Please."
Rita smiled at him again. "All right, Sean. You don't ever have to go back there."
Sean smiled back at her shyly. "You promise?"
Rita held up a hand. "Promise."
"Thank you," said Sean. "You're the best protectrix ever."
Rita laughed out loud, to Sean's obvious relief; he beamed at her. She was charmed by his new-- not assertiveness, exactly, because that wasn't really a desirable quality in a man. Demonstrativeness, maybe. The radiant smile, the readiness to speak, the obvious sincerity in his voice when he did speak-- it was all very-- endearing.
"Where did you come from?" she asked him, not really expecting an answer.
"My mother," said Sean.
When Rita opened the door of Sean's bedroom, she found him writing at the desk; he looked up as she came in, though, and slid off his chair at once, kneeling down and bowing his head low. To Rita's surprise and pleasure, he didn't seem frightened at all, and as she came closer he looked up at her with such infectious joy on his face that an answering smile bloomed on her own before she knew it.
He reached for the hem of her robe and, in a charmingly old-fashioned gesture-- had his mother suggested it?-- touched it to his lips. She laughed and knelt down beside him, letting a hand caress his cheek as he beamed at her.
"Thank you," he said softly.
"You're welcome," she said, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "I'll try to arrange for another visit very soon. Possibly-- would you like to go back to your mother's house to visit? She mentioned that your father still lives there-- I don't know if-- yes?"
"Yes, please," he breathed.
"Then I'll arrange it." Rita smoothed Sean's short, bristly hair. "Perhaps a longer visit than today's-- some day your mother doesn't have to work. Come down to lunch now, dear."
She helped him up, and, rather impulsively, slipped her hand into his larger one to lead him from the room. His hand closed on hers with a sudden tight pressure that touched her unexpectedly-- it was like the clutching of Adele's baby fingers, or like Carol's small hot hand when she'd first been learning to walk, seizing the nearest steady object and demanding that it hold her up. She squeezed Sean's hand back as they walked down to the kitchen.
The fear was there again as Rita looked around the kitchen table. None of them had moved from their chairs-- she didn't encourage elaborate obeisance, which seemed like a waste of time to her-- but they watched her, frozen, like mice at a cat's approach, praying not to be noticed, as Sean slid into his chair next to Kyle. Even Kyle's heart was pounding. Only Sean, still blissful in the aftermath of his mother's visit, seemed unaffected by the general terror.
"I'm not here to reprimand any of you," she said, in a tone whose gentleness was well practiced. She didn't relish men's fear; it disturbed her, made her uncomfortable, as if her power were an unwieldy and highly visible weapon that was useful enough on the battlefield but worryingly out of place in the kitchen where the men she protected ate the food she provided. She should be able to come here without frightening them.
And she had, before-- not without a pulse of nervousness from them, of course, but she didn't usually inspire this milk-whiteness of face and coldness of hands. It must be that they knew Bonnie had heard them talking about Viviane, and were afraid of punishment for their idle gossip.
"I wanted to speak with all of you," she said, "for two reasons. The first is that I want to make Kyle's new position official. He is no longer a potential father to my child, and therefore he is not under the restrictions unique to that position. He is still very much under my protection, as are all of you."
A flicker of emotion from Drew, but not from anyone else; they were all still tense, still as statues.
"The second reason," she continued, "is that I understand there has been some amount of gossip about my late sister, Viviane, and the way she met her death."
She'd been right; the fear thickened till it was almost palpable. Jonas looked as if he were going to faint.
"I'm sure none of you meant any harm," she said, trying to muster her most soothing, least menacing tones. "But since it has come to my attention, I ask all of you to refrain from speaking of my sister's death in the future. You know nothing of the matter or of its significance, and since those of us who do have chosen not to speak of it, you would be wise to do the same."
"Could you tell us?" asked Sean.
Rita turned to him, jarred less by his question than by the sensation of every other heart in the room simultaneously skipping a beat. He shrank back, and when she reached out to him he opened his mouth as if to cry out, but when she laid her hands on his shoulders he stilled with a little hiccuping shiver.
"No," she said, rubbing his shoulders reassuringly. "I wish no one knew-- I wish it hadn't happened-- but since it did, all we can do is try to forget about it. And certainly not talk about it. Trust me-- it's for your own good as much as anyone's."
"Yes, magistra," said Sean, leaning into her touch, more relaxed than she'd expected-- more relaxed than Kyle had been at her touch, earlier. "It's just that-- if we knew-- then we'd know why it was important not to talk about it."
Her hands stayed steady on his shoulders, massaging them, though she was a little shocked at his daring. She couldn't quite figure Sean out-- she knew what Emily would make of this arguing, on top of his disobedience earlier, but he didn't seem defiant to her at all. There was no insolence in his manner, no demanding tone, and yet he kept speaking after she'd said no. Rita wondered if this was how he'd spoken to his mother; she seemed affectionate enough towards him to have permitted it. Rita thought, if she had a son of her own someday, she might not mind if he spoke to her this way.
She didn't really mind when Sean did it, either. It was nice to think that, though neither of them could quite forget the weapon she was holding, he wasn't afraid of it right now.
"You know that it's important," she said, very gently, "because I tell you it's important."
At that he fell silent-- but he still felt relaxed under her hands, and somehow that pleased her very much. The other men seemed less afraid, too.
"That's all I wanted to say," she said, and turned and left, an eddy of confusion and interest swirling behind her.
Back in the parlor, bearing refreshments, she found Carol playing peek-a-boo with Adele as Emily watched benevolently.
"Hi, Aunt Rita," said Carol.
"Hello, Carol," said Rita, setting down the tray of tea and sandwiches on the table. "Have you been catching up with Aunt Emily?"
"Yes," said Carol, as she helped herself to a sandwich. "She says you're mad at Kyle."
Rita looked at Emily.
"I did not say that," said Emily. "I said you'd emotionally withdrawn from Kyle, which you patently have-- and I for one think that's a good thing."
"Do you think it's something that needs to be discussed with my thirteen-year-old ward?" Rita asked quietly.
"I'm sorry," said Emily, reaching for the teapot. "I didn't realize it was a secret."
"It's not a secret." Rita sat down. "And anyway, it's only to be expected, isn't it? Now that Sean's moved into his place."
"It's more recent than that," said Emily.
"Well, maybe it just took me some time to get used to the idea."
"Did Kyle try to kill Sean?" Carol asked.
"Carol!" Rita was appalled. "Where would you get such an idea?"
Carol shrugged, jiggling one foot restlessly, and bit off about half her sandwich at once.
"But what has he done?" Emily asked. "Nothing wrong, all right, but there's something. And it can't be that his hostility towards Sean is bothering you, because, well--"
"Because well what?" Carol demanded, her mouth not exactly full but not exactly empty either, looking from one aunt to the other.
"He isn't hostile to Sean any more," said Emily, and sipped her tea. "He's decided to be protective instead. Which you'd think would endear him even more to your sentimental aunt."
"Carol, you may leave the room," said Rita.
"No, no, let her stay," said Emily, as Carol, who had just swallowed, choked and gaped in inarticulate indignation. "I'll stop talking about it. Tell me about the ceremony instead. What went wrong?"
"Sean disobeyed Aunt Rita!" Carol burst out immediately, as if she'd been dying to tell someone who would share her righteous disbelief. "She ordered him to stand still and he walked right out of the circle and he was so bad and Kyle was there and Kyle was so mad and mean and it was really really hard not to hurt either of them but I did it, I was really good, but Aunt Rita made me leave."
"I'm proud of you for holding control," said Emily, smiling at her. "That must have been very difficult."
"It was," said Carol. "Sean deserved to be punished."
"That's for his protectrix to decide," Emily reminded her. "And your Aunt Rita has a very soft heart where men are concerned. That's why Kyle runs and hides his head in her skirt whenever big, bad Aunt Emily comes to visit."
Carol giggled as Emily added in the same facetious tone, "I wonder how much longer he'll be allowed to do that?"
"Maybe he'll have to hide his head in somebody else's skirt!" said Carol, still giggling.
Rita raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"
"If you don't want him any more," said Carol, seeming inordinately amused by the prospect, "he'll have to get a new protectrix, won't he?"
"Out from the mouths of babes and sucklings," said Emily, and took another sip of tea.
Rita, who had been on the point of speaking sharply to Carol, turned, surprised. "Isn't that from the God's Bible?"
"Is it? I thought it was a Hilda Helensdottir poem." Emily shrugged the shoulder Adele wasn't strapped to. "Maybe she was quoting."
"Kyle is not one whit less under my protection than he was before," said Rita to Carol, deciding to ignore Emily for the moment. "He's done nothing to deserve my withdrawing it. And you aren't to speak to him of this. I don't want you frightening him."
"Yes, ma'am," said Carol, meekly enough.
"And now," said Rita, "I'd like us to talk about something else. How about the weather?"
"Yes," said Emily. "Let's hope it will improve now that Julia Megsdottir has been reunited with her beloved son."
"How about Carol's education?" said Rita, and as Carol immediately launched into a description of the latest (terribly long, terribly boring) book she'd been required to read, Emily gave Rita the faintest suggestion of a grin.
After Emily had gone, without ever having exactly explained why she'd come, Rita asked Carol to clear away the tea things-- Carol didn't grumble; she never minded helping-- and retreated to her office, where she noticed a message flashing on her hand mirror and picked it up. It was a woman she'd never seen before, looking extremely nervous.
"Magistra," she began. "This is Martha Lynsdottir, the directrix of the district men's center. I am-- more than sorry-- for any inconvenience you have suffered. I have checked the records very thoroughly-- myself-- and I have no official discipline reports for the male you chose. Nothing that would indicate any problems. I can only conclude that the guards have been-- woefully lax. Please, at your earliest convenience-- I would be more than pleased to meet with you. Whenever your busy schedule permits."
Rita raised an eyebrow at the reflection as it made a few more compliments and apologies before fading out. At least the woman was worried, as she well should be, after what had happened to Sean and probably any number of other unprotected males on her watch.
She unlocked a drawer of her desk, and from among the five silver chain bracelets that lay inside, chose two, setting them side by side on the desk. She examined the charms on each-- one, which she'd ordered in between choosing Sean at the center and picking him up two weeks later, was still almost entirely blank, except for the engraved name. The other bore an assortment of charms-- a charm of protection, a charm that would ensure Rita knew the wearer's location at all times, charms to pick up on changes in his heartbeat or breathing, and charms to ensure that that any other woman who examined the bracelet would recognize the seal of Rita's protection and the status the wearer bore in her household.
The trouble was that Kyle, whose bracelet also bore his name engraved on a smooth, shining silver tab, no longer had that particular status, "potential father"; she'd need to transfer that part of it to Sean's bracelet, as well as duplicating the standard charms for protection and location and basic monitoring. That would leave Kyle's bracelet without an indication of status, which would look odd-- but what alternative status could she give him? She was reluctant to downgrade him to "worker," but none of the other standard designations applied-- not "daughter's father," not "son's father," certainly not "son." There must be other women who kept infertile men under their protection out of sheer affection for them, but they must designate them as "workers," that convenient catchall phrase for male occupations other than the all-important one of child-siring.
She could always invent a new designation-- something along the lines of "companion," perhaps-- but it occurred to her that Kyle might actually prefer "worker." After all, Drew was a worker, too.
She decided to delay the decision for now; it wasn't as if she had immediate plans to be sending Kyle out anywhere. She did want to finish Sean's bracelet, though, so that any visit to his mother wouldn't be delayed by practical considerations, and she turned her attention to the task, glad to have something technical to focus her attention on. Men were too complicated for her right now.
The bracelet finished, she caught up on her other correspondence before calling the directrix of the center back. The woman swam into focus on her mirror almost immediately, looking twice as anxious as before.
"Magistra," she said. "This is an honor-- though an unfortunate occasion. Let me apologize again--"
"Please don't," said Rita. "I'd rather discuss meeting times."
Sean was in his room when she checked, writing again at the desk. He started to get up, but she waved him back down.
"To whom are you writing?" she asked him, though she thought it must be to his mother; his eagerness to correspond with her was touching.
"You," said Sean.
Rita smiled, surprised. "To me?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Sean. "But, I mean, it's not finished yet."
"I'll wait to read it, then," said Rita. "I stopped in to tell you that I'm going out again. To the men's center."
Sean looked surprised, and not a little dismayed, and Rita realized what she'd said.
"Not to choose anyone, this time," she reassured him, and he seemed to relax. "But I didn't like what you told me about your treatment at the center-- I'd like to make sure other men aren't treated the same way. So I'm going to discuss it with the directrix."
"Oh," said Sean, looking no less surprised than before, but his eyes shone suddenly with a less-definable emotion as they stayed fixed on her face.
"Do you want to go with me?" Rita asked.
Sean's eyes widened to about twice their natural size, and he bit his lip.
"I wouldn't leave you alone, of course," said Rita. "But since you're the one who knows firsthand of the poor management, I thought to take you along. Not if you'd rather not, though."
"I'd rather not," said Sean in a low voice, and added, "Please."
Rita smiled at him again. "All right, Sean. You don't ever have to go back there."
Sean smiled back at her shyly. "You promise?"
Rita held up a hand. "Promise."
"Thank you," said Sean. "You're the best protectrix ever."
Rita laughed out loud, to Sean's obvious relief; he beamed at her. She was charmed by his new-- not assertiveness, exactly, because that wasn't really a desirable quality in a man. Demonstrativeness, maybe. The radiant smile, the readiness to speak, the obvious sincerity in his voice when he did speak-- it was all very-- endearing.
"Where did you come from?" she asked him, not really expecting an answer.
"My mother," said Sean.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-09 11:44 pm (UTC)"My mother," said Sean
Date: 2009-09-12 02:49 am (UTC)I'm not sure I like Carol or big, bad Aunt Emily, but I don't dislike them yet. Is Emily's ability to sense emotion much stronger than normal? It seems like sensing other peoples real feelings blaring at high volume in spite of how they tried to act could make a person cynical and blunt.