Re: Manor: Damian/Misha
[Though he lacked an understanding of some social nuances, Damian could read body language, and he understood before the slipper tap, that Misha had made room for him. He did not flinch away from eye contact, as he had never been taught to. It may also be of note that his discomfort did not come up much in conversations such as these, but perhaps it was another thing he had not been taught. All in all, his reaction was simple and needed little coaxing. He stood, removed himself to the head of the bed, and sat next to the boy. He butted up against him—had to—for both of them to remain seated, but he was not shy about it now. That could have been the fault of the party. Or perhaps he had forgotten to make note of it.
Damian thought on the diagnosis of schizophrenia. He turned toward Misha, in spite of the lack of space, and gazed at him steadily, unflinching.] Do you believe such a diagnosis?
[As for Mother, there came a conspicuous pause. Damian looked away. He picked at the hem of his shirt over his jeans.] I do not know where she is. [Whether uncharacteristic or not, the man pulled his legs up on the bed and brought them up, to his chest. He did not curl his weight inward, toward knees, but instead, just sat that way. His hands were trapped between thighs and stomach, but it did not matter. He glanced at Misha.] It is Damian. Mother pronounces it differently at times, but it is the same. Occasionally, I was called 'Fath.' When she was feeling somewhat affectionate, she called me 'baba.' The others just called me 'Sidi.' But, Mother is fluent in English. At times, I was simply 'son.' [Names became complicated when they mattered. Damian bin Bruce bin Tuma. (Or Damian ben Bruce, if you chose Egyptian Arabic.) Damian bin Talia bint al-Gol. Blood held weight for many, including Damian, and whose one had ought be announced.] I went by Damian al-Gol until I left to come here. But, Wainright holds more currency here. [He looked away again.]