Re: Damian and Leena in NJ
Damian did not enjoy his bedroom. While he had retreated to it oftimes, seeking its sanctuary, he had been raised to view a bedroom as a place to sleep and nothing more. At home, he'd had a pallet, a decanter, a washbowl and linen towel, but that had been all. It was all he needed. Here, at Father's, desire dictated. Overabundance dictated. Not necessity, not asceticism as principle. The room, along with the body of the Manor, was ostentatious display. The bed itself sat in a wrought frame, postered and curtained, and Damian found the entire thing to be rather ridiculous and odious to sleep upon. The mattress was soft, which was not particularly good for posture or slumber, especially when one was accustomed to a much harder surface. It was not restful to feel as if one was being swallowed alive by what could only be an enlarged malvaceous pith ("marshmallow"; enjoyed in ancient Egypt and bastardized by industrialization and Americans).—Which is all to say, he would have agreed on the counts of excessiveness and perhaps even the hyperbolic comparison to the Taj Mahal, regardless of the fact that it did not resemble the Taj Mahal in the least. (The decorating was very European, he thought.)
Damian sat sunken on his bed, curtains pushed aside, and he watched his sister move. He could not ascertain if it was compulsion propelled by nerves, anxiety, excitement, memory, or an attention disorder. As he had not seen her squirm so the little he had seen her on the plane, he deduced it was likely her nerves reacting to an environment she found foreign. Her awareness was heightened—it was stress-response hyperstimulation manifesting in feet that would not still. Perhaps she wished too that she would find familiarity and was anxious that she had not. He did not know.—Moon-wide eyes were still. In stark contrast, no part of Damian so much as twitched. It was only the biological imperative of blinking that differentiated him from wax. "Does it contain attachment to follicles? Only X-chromosomal links can be confirmed with mitochondrial testing, which is all you can get without nuclear DNA." For once, he was not patronizing. He was attempting to be informative, however obvious he thought it was.
Another blink. He stood, shuffing the discarded twine of thread away from him and, hopefully, out of sight. He worked blood into his fingers before hiding both hands his pockets and lifting his chin. The fabric of his hood slipped some on his hair, but he did not correct it. His mouth was dry and he tried to swallow, but it was not very effective. Whatever.—As prompted, he glanced around the room perfunctorily. "Yes." He regarded Leena then. "Did you find yours?"