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kasihyaJulian is put up in a room that clearly belonged to a girl, but he's too tired to care at this point. He deliberately leaves the door open, finding the idea of a room entirely enclosed to be one oddity too many, and pulls the desk chair over to the window so that he can watch the storm raging outside. Tropical storms are common in Arasia, but this is different. He can feel the currents of power moving through the wind and the rain, beating against the world in ways that he, with all of his knowledge and education, finds to his irritation that he can't understand. He doesn't know what is going on out there, aside from the fact that something is, and it bothers him.
A motion in the hall catches his eye. He turns: Eŋya is at the door, about to enter, but when he sees Julian in the corner, he stops.
'Wrong room,' says Eŋya. 'There's too many.'
'Come in.' It galls him that the thought even crossed his mind, but Eŋya has gifts, too, and he's well-educated enough to be able to compete with Julian in their shared classes. Perhaps he has his own theories concerning the turmoil bearing down upon the world.
Eŋya takes a few steps in and stops, leaning against the doorknob, face impassive. 'Do you need something?'
Julian ignores his sarcastic tone, nodding at the window. 'What do you make of it?'
'Coniferous forests and rain,' says Eŋya, 'are you finished trying to make a fool out of me?'
'I meant — never mind.' Julian bites back a childish sigh of irritation. Eŋya turns to go. 'Stay here,' he adds, on an impulse.
Eŋya stops in the doorway, pulls his hair up into a ponytail, and ties it back in a transparent display of disinterest. 'Why.'
Julian fidgets with the edges of his sleeves, and looks at the wall rather than at his fellow student. He could give any number of explanations, but none would work without seriously compromising his dignity. 'I want you to,' he spits finally, which comes out sounding more like an insult than a reason to remain in the same room when they've spent the better part of a year and a half trying to do the opposite.
Eŋya drops his hands. 'We're not in Yyeørel anymore. Here, you are just like anyone else, and I do not need to pay attention to you.' He gives Julian a mocking nod and leaves the room; Julian can hear the sound of the door next to his closing, and drops his head into his hands.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Julian notices, as time goes on, that the House people have a tendency to pair themselves off. Perhaps it's just human instinct, but it simultaneously amuses and irks him. Some are explicable: Tanwen and Naike, who are apparently married despite being the same age as he; Reed and Stephen, also close friends in their own world; and Diana and Matt, the two native Vespuccians who have taken it upon themselves to run the house as hosts of sorts. (No bets on how long that arrangement will last before one of them drops dead of exhaustion.) But there are others: Čhatma, the pervert, has taken up with the boy who came with Tanwen, and though neither have more than two words in common, they seem to get along fine. Neil continues to drift, splitting his time between morose solitude and desperate coalition with Reed and Stephen. Kephri has loosely attached himself to Čhatma and Nyali, although a more accurate description, Julian thinks sourly, would be to say that Čhatma has swept Kephri along despite the way that he clearly terrifies Nyali.
And then there is Eŋya and himself. Eŋya who seems to prefer the company of Diana, and who tries to make himself as useful as possible. There is plenty for him to do. Julian is left with no one. He takes it upon himself to insinuate himself into every conversation, writing things down and trying to absorb as much language as he can. He recognizes the folly of trying to stay within one's own language group: that would leave him isolated from half of his fellow survivors, and he has one of the wider ranges. They need each other, however regretful it might be.
When spending time with Čhatma and Nyali, he is surprised and amused to discover that they have come to the same conclusion that he has. 'Poor kid doesn't have no one to talk to,' Čhatma says to Julian in a low voice. 'He's a slave in his own world, and there's a world of difference standing between him and the folks he came with.'
'With whom he came,' Julian corrects him, scribbling in the notebook he found in his room. Whoever owned it had used only the first ten pages, and those were easily removed. They wouldn't be coming back for it. 'And you're trying to learn how to talk to him? Interesting method of seduction, I must say.'
Čhatma snarls and pushes him, throwing him back so that Julian falls onto his back with Čhatma looming over him. It takes him a moment to recognize that Čhatma isn't trying to do anything strange; when they were at school together, this would be the point where Čhatma shifted into a dragon and attacked him physically. That magic is gone, but Julian imagines that old habits die hard. In the interest of peacekeeping, he makes the first truly conciliatory move in his life: he tilts his head back and bares his throat, as though Čhatma had shifted after all and he were offering an animal's version of an olive branch.
Čhatma gets off of him and curls up in a ball at the other end of the couch. Nyali, who has witnessed the entire thing whilst perched in the armchair next to the couch, hisses and murmurs something incomprehensible to Čhatma. He picks his head up out of his arms and gives a hoarse laugh, says something in response. Julian watches with the distinct feeling that he is intruding on something private, which is nonsense of course. He is Prince of Arasia, the city without doors, growing up without privacy, and right now the world is so small that there's no room for it anyway unless they all want to end up dying.
But he is still uncomfortable.
Čhatma glances over at him. 'Apologize,' he says. 'It's a laugh riot while we're at school, but this is real. Here's this little kid, and he's just lost his family, he has no one anywhere close to his age, so I'm trying to be nice for once, and you're sitting there on your smug little ass calling me a pedophile.' His long face is physically human, but Julian swears there is something of a dragon in his expression. He recalls with sudden clarity an incident at university in which a group of tourists had attempted to harass shy, quiet Naheli from across the hall, and Čhatma had set on them with Kephri. Had it not been for two of the men threatening Naheli with loaded guns, both of his fellow students would have been charged for first-degree murder.
All of this flickers through his mind rapidly as he looks from Čhatma to Nyali: from the dragon he cannot help but needle to the foreign boy, malnourished but resolute. 'I will desist,' he says, and that is as close to an apology as his pride will allow him to tread.
Čhatma glares for two seconds before he switches his attention back to Nyali, and they continue playing their game. It seems to consist mainly of pointing at things and saying their name in their respective languages, and how this will help them communicate Julian cannot fathom, but it seems to make them both happy. He leaves them to it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A motion in the hall catches his eye. He turns: Eŋya is at the door, about to enter, but when he sees Julian in the corner, he stops.
'Wrong room,' says Eŋya. 'There's too many.'
'Come in.' It galls him that the thought even crossed his mind, but Eŋya has gifts, too, and he's well-educated enough to be able to compete with Julian in their shared classes. Perhaps he has his own theories concerning the turmoil bearing down upon the world.
Eŋya takes a few steps in and stops, leaning against the doorknob, face impassive. 'Do you need something?'
Julian ignores his sarcastic tone, nodding at the window. 'What do you make of it?'
'Coniferous forests and rain,' says Eŋya, 'are you finished trying to make a fool out of me?'
'I meant — never mind.' Julian bites back a childish sigh of irritation. Eŋya turns to go. 'Stay here,' he adds, on an impulse.
Eŋya stops in the doorway, pulls his hair up into a ponytail, and ties it back in a transparent display of disinterest. 'Why.'
Julian fidgets with the edges of his sleeves, and looks at the wall rather than at his fellow student. He could give any number of explanations, but none would work without seriously compromising his dignity. 'I want you to,' he spits finally, which comes out sounding more like an insult than a reason to remain in the same room when they've spent the better part of a year and a half trying to do the opposite.
Eŋya drops his hands. 'We're not in Yyeørel anymore. Here, you are just like anyone else, and I do not need to pay attention to you.' He gives Julian a mocking nod and leaves the room; Julian can hear the sound of the door next to his closing, and drops his head into his hands.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Julian notices, as time goes on, that the House people have a tendency to pair themselves off. Perhaps it's just human instinct, but it simultaneously amuses and irks him. Some are explicable: Tanwen and Naike, who are apparently married despite being the same age as he; Reed and Stephen, also close friends in their own world; and Diana and Matt, the two native Vespuccians who have taken it upon themselves to run the house as hosts of sorts. (No bets on how long that arrangement will last before one of them drops dead of exhaustion.) But there are others: Čhatma, the pervert, has taken up with the boy who came with Tanwen, and though neither have more than two words in common, they seem to get along fine. Neil continues to drift, splitting his time between morose solitude and desperate coalition with Reed and Stephen. Kephri has loosely attached himself to Čhatma and Nyali, although a more accurate description, Julian thinks sourly, would be to say that Čhatma has swept Kephri along despite the way that he clearly terrifies Nyali.
And then there is Eŋya and himself. Eŋya who seems to prefer the company of Diana, and who tries to make himself as useful as possible. There is plenty for him to do. Julian is left with no one. He takes it upon himself to insinuate himself into every conversation, writing things down and trying to absorb as much language as he can. He recognizes the folly of trying to stay within one's own language group: that would leave him isolated from half of his fellow survivors, and he has one of the wider ranges. They need each other, however regretful it might be.
When spending time with Čhatma and Nyali, he is surprised and amused to discover that they have come to the same conclusion that he has. 'Poor kid doesn't have no one to talk to,' Čhatma says to Julian in a low voice. 'He's a slave in his own world, and there's a world of difference standing between him and the folks he came with.'
'With whom he came,' Julian corrects him, scribbling in the notebook he found in his room. Whoever owned it had used only the first ten pages, and those were easily removed. They wouldn't be coming back for it. 'And you're trying to learn how to talk to him? Interesting method of seduction, I must say.'
Čhatma snarls and pushes him, throwing him back so that Julian falls onto his back with Čhatma looming over him. It takes him a moment to recognize that Čhatma isn't trying to do anything strange; when they were at school together, this would be the point where Čhatma shifted into a dragon and attacked him physically. That magic is gone, but Julian imagines that old habits die hard. In the interest of peacekeeping, he makes the first truly conciliatory move in his life: he tilts his head back and bares his throat, as though Čhatma had shifted after all and he were offering an animal's version of an olive branch.
Čhatma gets off of him and curls up in a ball at the other end of the couch. Nyali, who has witnessed the entire thing whilst perched in the armchair next to the couch, hisses and murmurs something incomprehensible to Čhatma. He picks his head up out of his arms and gives a hoarse laugh, says something in response. Julian watches with the distinct feeling that he is intruding on something private, which is nonsense of course. He is Prince of Arasia, the city without doors, growing up without privacy, and right now the world is so small that there's no room for it anyway unless they all want to end up dying.
But he is still uncomfortable.
Čhatma glances over at him. 'Apologize,' he says. 'It's a laugh riot while we're at school, but this is real. Here's this little kid, and he's just lost his family, he has no one anywhere close to his age, so I'm trying to be nice for once, and you're sitting there on your smug little ass calling me a pedophile.' His long face is physically human, but Julian swears there is something of a dragon in his expression. He recalls with sudden clarity an incident at university in which a group of tourists had attempted to harass shy, quiet Naheli from across the hall, and Čhatma had set on them with Kephri. Had it not been for two of the men threatening Naheli with loaded guns, both of his fellow students would have been charged for first-degree murder.
All of this flickers through his mind rapidly as he looks from Čhatma to Nyali: from the dragon he cannot help but needle to the foreign boy, malnourished but resolute. 'I will desist,' he says, and that is as close to an apology as his pride will allow him to tread.
Čhatma glares for two seconds before he switches his attention back to Nyali, and they continue playing their game. It seems to consist mainly of pointing at things and saying their name in their respective languages, and how this will help them communicate Julian cannot fathom, but it seems to make them both happy. He leaves them to it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
