Re: Manor: Damian/Misha
[Damian had both space and none, as was the way of heirs. He could demand much, but received little. He did not seem to mind the closeness. He simply listened to Misha speak.] You are not insane. [It seemed obvious to Damian. The boy just said things people did not like, acted in ways they did not approve of, believed things that threatened them. Then again, perhaps an al-Gol was not the best judge of sanity. That thought, however, did not occur to Damian.] Everyone believes their reality is real. Such is our nature.
[Damian allowed a smile at the echo of 'sidi.] Mother is living, yes. [As far as he knew.—He fidgeted a bit, before stilling at the tension and touch of a fingertip on his knee. Hebrew.] Mishael. [It was his turn to echo, repeat, and he smiled again, for no particular reason. He gestured at the room around them.] My name got me this, did it not? [He turned glint-gaze down to Misha's knee, and he spelled his own name there—داميان—as deliberately as the boy had.] Mother is... strong, austere, sensible. [Three words and Damian felt that was enough. Confused at the churn in his gut, but refusing to pick it apart, he just told the boy:] I met a man at the party. I kissed him. [He took his finger back and folded his hands over his knee.]