Young Writers Society

"Nearly a year. We write, but I haven't visited her in quite some time and the journey is expensive for her."

"That's too bad," Pratik answered, still trying to think of safer topics he could stick to. He'd learned plenty of family dynamics when he learned to recognize pressure points in his targets. But he still felt like his understanding was merely clinical -- he couldn't quite grasp the affections that non-estranged family members seemed to hold for one another. "I'm sure that will make the reunion all the sweeter."

Gaius nodded slightly, resolving to drop the matter. He didn't particularly relish reuniting with Cecily; she, like him, had much baggage she carried with her. She was just much, much worse at hiding it and when she was on the glassweed she unloaded it all on anyone who would listen. And with Pratik here that was a risk as well as unpleasant and nightmare-inducing. Gaius would have to work to keep her away from him.

Pratik watched him for a moment, then looked down at his plate and cut off a piece of fish instead of pressing the matter. There would be plenty of time for questions later, since Ash seemed interested in keeping Pratik on the payroll. There was no point in pushing his luck too far.

Besides, he was beginning to feel like he was intruding into a family meal. Not that he minded intruding, of course. But he didn't want to wear out his welcome too quickly -- and he'd discovered long ago that too many questions tended to make people send you along faster than if you let them have their silence.

"What was in your book?" Mattathias piped up. Gaius glanced up.
"Don't be rude," he chided. "It's his notebook, Mattathias."
"You looked through it," Mattathias pointed out, and Gaius sighed. His son was too smart for his age.

Pratik choked on his fish as his throat suddenly constricted. He coughed and reached for his water, trying to swallow down his anxiety along with the food. Of all the people he expected to be interrogated by, a four-year-old wasn't at the top of that list.

He took a deep breath, eyes locking on Ash for a moment. The boy did have a point there. Pratik briefly considered agreeing with him -- that it was in fact very rude for his father to look through the notebook. But that didn't seem to be the best answer just then.

Pratik set his water down and looked at Mattathias. How could he possibly explain something that big to such a small child? He forced himself to smile a bit, making his voice as gentle as he could manage, "Memories."

"Like a journal?" Mattathias silenced as his mother gave him a light nudge. Gaius nodded his thanks to her; he hadn't told her about the notebook but she seemed to have guessed that it was a sensitive subject.

"Something like that," Pratik agreed. He looked back at Ash, hoping he didn't look as vulnerable as he felt. He'd feel less exposed if he'd been sitting there in his undershorts than he did now.

He realized he was bouncing his leg nervously, but couldn't seem to stop it. So he planted his left hand on his thigh and pressed down firmly, stilling it by force. He looked back at the boy. "Little stories about the places I've been and what I learned along the way. Secrets that no one else knows."

Well, almost no one. Pratik looked back at Ash, still keeping his palm planted firmly on his leg so that it wouldn't bounce.

Gaius met his gaze. That was a fine answer for a child's question; he approved. Mattathias certainly seemed satisfied with it.
"I like secret stories," he said eagerly. "I like to make secret stories in books sometimes." He blinked, cheeks coloring. "But not much anymore. I'm not s'posed to draw in the books in the library."

Pratik was still tense, but he smiled a bit as he looked back at Mattathias. "Perhaps you can get a notebook of your own someday."

And, hopefully, his stories would be much happier.

"I'll write lots of stories like my grandmother!" Mattathias exclaimed, bouncing up and down in his chair.
"Hopefully more pleasant," Gaius said dryly, picking up his fork at a nudge from both Sara and Sera. "She should have stuck to arithmetical theory and geography."

Pratik took a deep breath, grateful that the conversation had moved on from him, even though he felt vaguely threatened that it would turn full circle and come back to punch him again. Apparently, even children could make him feel cornered, now.

The emotions from last night came flooding back into him. The fear of being discovered now replaced with the fear of what the discovery was going to mean for him. The agitation was just as strong as ever. The indignation that Ash had read through his poetry. And sheer, unfiltered humiliation.

He tried to remain passive, but his brow furrowed as he looked down at his plate and stabbed a piece of fish, resolving to be more careful of how he chewed it this time, in case Mattathias came up with any more nasty questions to assault him with.

Breakfast continued again in relative silence. Gaius managed a few more bites of fish and finished off his berries, then rose.
"Pratik, if you've finished," he said.
"Oh, stay." Sera tugged at his tunic. "You always go rushing off to business. Only time for family at meals, hm? Sit down, Lord, and socialize." Gaius looked down his nose at her. He hated when she did this.
"I have a territory to run," he said stiffly. "I stay when time permits, which it does not, as I am at war. I ask your forgiveness, madam, and yours, dear family. Pratik." He took up his cane.

Pratik stood when Ash did and watched the interaction intently. This confirmed his suspicions that Ash wasn't as detached as he wanted to pretend that he was. He was all cold and stiff now, but no one would grab his tunic and try to convince him to stay if he was unpleasant.

He dipped his head a bit and took a step nearer to him. "Sir."

Gaius bowed slightly to the table, then limped off, gesturing for Pratik to follow.