[As Carlisle tries to figure out how to answer such questions -- but not in a way that is too telling, as the thought of being discovered for what he truly is still fills him with trepidation -- Reynir catches him so completely off-guard that he can't focus on anything but one statement in particular. The slightest hint of red blossoms under his glasses; his body is still capable of expressing bashfulness in such a way in his dreams.]
Are we? Friends, I mean?
[He asks that not like someone who would rather not be friends, but as a man who is honestly uncertain. He spent most of his life in relative isolation, his emotions guarded when not in the privacy of his estate, everyone kept at arm's length due to the superstitions behind the twice-cursed. People knew who he was because of his position at the church, knew of him because of his family name, but they didn't know Carlisle himself; those in Bear Den knew him his entire life, but didn't know his favorite dish, his hobbies outside of his work, his favorite kind of tea. It suited Carlisle well enough in life, as everyone -- himself included -- thought the twice-cursed were better off in seclusion, as anyone close to them was likely to suffer from the malady and misfortune that surrounded them.
But... he has always liked the idea, been envious of those who could make those kinds of connections without worrying what ruin they might bring to others. He believed the rumors: it was hard not to when his father died so soon after his affliction manifested, his uncles vanishing but a few years later. After that, he was the only Longinmouth left, and with no one to say otherwise, it was easy to assume the old tales and rhymes about the twice-cursed were entirely and utterly true.
And so he gives Reynir an earnest look, his question genuine.]
no subject
Are we? Friends, I mean?
[He asks that not like someone who would rather not be friends, but as a man who is honestly uncertain. He spent most of his life in relative isolation, his emotions guarded when not in the privacy of his estate, everyone kept at arm's length due to the superstitions behind the twice-cursed. People knew who he was because of his position at the church, knew of him because of his family name, but they didn't know Carlisle himself; those in Bear Den knew him his entire life, but didn't know his favorite dish, his hobbies outside of his work, his favorite kind of tea. It suited Carlisle well enough in life, as everyone -- himself included -- thought the twice-cursed were better off in seclusion, as anyone close to them was likely to suffer from the malady and misfortune that surrounded them.
But... he has always liked the idea, been envious of those who could make those kinds of connections without worrying what ruin they might bring to others. He believed the rumors: it was hard not to when his father died so soon after his affliction manifested, his uncles vanishing but a few years later. After that, he was the only Longinmouth left, and with no one to say otherwise, it was easy to assume the old tales and rhymes about the twice-cursed were entirely and utterly true.
And so he gives Reynir an earnest look, his question genuine.]