Alcuin resisted the urge to glance back at the stubborn spot on the mantelpiece after the angel's strange gesture; he knew full well the fleck of grime would be gone along with every mote of dust in the air. He could tell that from the sunbeam shining in from the living room window, cutting a bright swath of light between the two of them. He doubted the room had ever been so profoundly cleansed, or ever would be again. “And why is that?” He hazarded softly instead, leaning back to rest against the arm of the loveseat nearest to the window. “If you don't mind me asking, that is.”
It shouldn't have surprised him to hear such a kindly form of address from the mouth of an angel, but it did. Humanity had forgotten a great deal about Elua and his Companions and there was no telling what the heavenly host remembered and what they chose to forget, or turn away from at the very least. He certainly would never have presumed to be considered family – not at all. “Family?” Alcuin glanced down at the sun warmed rug at his feet, his brow furrowed with contemplation. “You are very kind, but that was a long, long time ago. I should expect them to remember, though we often do not remember them in kind, but what little there was of them flowing through our veins is long gone by now, surely.”