6 Ash, 121
The meal went quickly, only not so quickly as to disgrace the delicacy with which it had been prepared. Rivin set the plate aside with a little flick of his wrist that wouldn't have been out of place at the nicest of noble parties. Memorizing such gestures had been a study, one he'd dedicated an amount of time to that would have qualified him for a degree of some kind if he'd been allowed to attend an institution of higher learning. Assuming said institution gave out degrees in etiquette and protocol.
It was a source of pride for them both that Dr. Ilex could have Rivin at his dinner table with guests of any echelon without causing shame. That did not always mean being on his best behavior, some guests required lesser behavior to be comfortable, and some required insults as subtle as the chef's truffle souffles.
Dr. Ilex didn't have friends, not as far as Rivin could tell. He had acquaintances by the hundreds, seemed to know everyone, though that might have been a product of the fact that Rivin only met people who were allowed into the house; whichever house he was currently held in.
Even so, his gleaned information seemed to imply that most men, even noble men did not have so large a stable of familiarity. Not all the acquaintances were friendly, and some that were, Ilex was not friendly in answer to; but all were to be treated politely. Politeness, Rivin had come to understand, was a tool. It could be welded the same as a syringe or scalpel, to extract that which was wanted or to cut away that which was not. Ilex used Rivin as a compliment, or an insult, as a way to draw forth sympathy or a manner in which to disgust. Rivin was also a tool in the mind of the doctor.
It was not a bad thing to know, there were no bad things to know. So long as Rivin understood his role, he could fill it. So long as he could fill his role, he had value. So long as he had value, he would not be disposed of, literally or figuratively. It was another lesson his mother had taught him, perhaps her most important.
~~~~
A few days after his first journey from the cell the family of two shared, Rivin had thought to ask what the reason had been, for the extractions, the samples. His mother explained, as well as she could to a toddler, that the man, Dr. Ilex, was trying to make something new. At first the child had wondered at this, his malleable brain trying to imagine what sorts of new things the doctor might make.
"Like... glass?" He had asked, eyes wide to pick up what traces of light snuck in around the cracks of the door to see her face, to read her response before she made it.
She smiled, a tiny thing, as were most of her expressions,
"No," She said, "Like people."
This answer surprised Rivin enough to keep him quiet for hours. His mother went about doing her own things as he thought, cleaning their space, resetting their bedding, humming songs in odd accents that were not those of her speaking voice. She knew that when her son grew quiet after questions he was formulating an understanding, reaching around the edges of a new thing and feeling his way through it. When he spoke again she had settled into the little chair she had formed of their straw bed. He toddled over and papped her cheek with his chubby little hand. It wasn't a rebuke, or even affection of any contemplated kind, it was just something he did, a way to connect them. It had probably come from before his eyes had learned to use the little light available to him, when it was easier to see by touch, to find where his mother was with his fingers and his mouth than with any of his other senses.
"What kinds of people are there?" He could feel the return of her pleased-with-him smile against his palm and didn't need to look up to know he had asked the correct question. A correct question, at least, sometimes there were more than one that she wanted from him when she introduced him to something new.
Thus began his instruction in the people of the world. The sheer amount of information was vast, and the tiny sponge of his mind had to expand many times to take it all in. He did not catch all of it the first time it was told, and every day, for the instruction lasted for months, she would require him to explain what he had learned the previous day before teaching anything new. Getting him to do what she wanted became easy as all she had now to do was withhold her lessons. Rivin did whatever was required to be given more. More knowledge, more kinds of people to imagine and add to his list of growing forces upon reality.
He learned Ilex was a human, the guards were mostly human, though there were a few of other races. Once he learned what types of people his mother knew of, he asked where they all lived. This too had pleased her and led to more lessons.
His questions expanded the world for him. His world had been his mother only at first, and then the cell where they lived, then the hallways and rooms between the cell and the lab. Now cities were opened up to him, countries, continents. She could not draw him pictures, but she required him to memorize which borders touched and where. How she knew, he did not know, nor did he think to ask. His assumption, if he'd had any at all, was that everyone learned as he was learning.
He asked more: What were the people like? Did they all speak different languages? And, eventually, Where do people come from?
This question did not make his mother smile, but she did not frown in disapproval either. She had picked him up, put him in her lap and explained in a clinical way, without any of the details that make the acts involved interesting or special, how people came to be.
Not in the way of gods creating races, though she did get to those lessons eventually, but in the way of individuals coming together to make another. He was quiet again when she finished and he remained so as she fell asleep. It was a long time before he fell asleep. When morning came, as much as it ever did in that place, and they had both woken, he had a new question.
How did I come to be?
And here, at last, was the question that would lead back to his original one. She explained that Dr. Iles had bought her for the purpose of making Rivin. The doctor had ensured she was healthy before he brought to her a male to mate with. It was not more than a few minutes before he had asked: Who was the male, who was his father?
She told him that his father had been part Dratori, part Lysanrin, possible with smaller parts of other races, but she only knew those two. She did not know his name, and had not seen him since she had become pregnant. Rivin wanted to ask if that was normal, but he didn't have all the concepts he needed yet to understand that there was such a thing. It only felt off, somehow. He peered closely at her face, examining it for signs of pain or other, more subtle emotions that would have told him how she felt on the matter, but found her to be placid.
The connections came together in his head over a little time, and when supper had been delivered through the little slit in the bottom of the door he was able to ask the right question.
"Why did Doctor Ilex want to make me?"
His mother did not usually continue to answer questions while they ate, but to reward him for getting back to where they had started she did. His food was forgotten as he listened. The doctor wanted to make a new type of person, out of the different types of people. He had learned of the different abilities of the races, as much as she knew, and now she explained that the doctor wanted to combine the better parts of different ones to make something better.
'Better' was a new concept all its own, for him to pull at and squish back together later. In that moment, he was too struck by the conclusion his eager mind had come to. Struck like a bell.
"If I passed the test. That the doctor gave me. Am I new? Am I better?"
Her smile had not been so small this time.
The meal went quickly, only not so quickly as to disgrace the delicacy with which it had been prepared. Rivin set the plate aside with a little flick of his wrist that wouldn't have been out of place at the nicest of noble parties. Memorizing such gestures had been a study, one he'd dedicated an amount of time to that would have qualified him for a degree of some kind if he'd been allowed to attend an institution of higher learning. Assuming said institution gave out degrees in etiquette and protocol.
It was a source of pride for them both that Dr. Ilex could have Rivin at his dinner table with guests of any echelon without causing shame. That did not always mean being on his best behavior, some guests required lesser behavior to be comfortable, and some required insults as subtle as the chef's truffle souffles.
Dr. Ilex didn't have friends, not as far as Rivin could tell. He had acquaintances by the hundreds, seemed to know everyone, though that might have been a product of the fact that Rivin only met people who were allowed into the house; whichever house he was currently held in.
Even so, his gleaned information seemed to imply that most men, even noble men did not have so large a stable of familiarity. Not all the acquaintances were friendly, and some that were, Ilex was not friendly in answer to; but all were to be treated politely. Politeness, Rivin had come to understand, was a tool. It could be welded the same as a syringe or scalpel, to extract that which was wanted or to cut away that which was not. Ilex used Rivin as a compliment, or an insult, as a way to draw forth sympathy or a manner in which to disgust. Rivin was also a tool in the mind of the doctor.
It was not a bad thing to know, there were no bad things to know. So long as Rivin understood his role, he could fill it. So long as he could fill his role, he had value. So long as he had value, he would not be disposed of, literally or figuratively. It was another lesson his mother had taught him, perhaps her most important.
~~~~
A few days after his first journey from the cell the family of two shared, Rivin had thought to ask what the reason had been, for the extractions, the samples. His mother explained, as well as she could to a toddler, that the man, Dr. Ilex, was trying to make something new. At first the child had wondered at this, his malleable brain trying to imagine what sorts of new things the doctor might make.
"Like... glass?" He had asked, eyes wide to pick up what traces of light snuck in around the cracks of the door to see her face, to read her response before she made it.
She smiled, a tiny thing, as were most of her expressions,
"No," She said, "Like people."
This answer surprised Rivin enough to keep him quiet for hours. His mother went about doing her own things as he thought, cleaning their space, resetting their bedding, humming songs in odd accents that were not those of her speaking voice. She knew that when her son grew quiet after questions he was formulating an understanding, reaching around the edges of a new thing and feeling his way through it. When he spoke again she had settled into the little chair she had formed of their straw bed. He toddled over and papped her cheek with his chubby little hand. It wasn't a rebuke, or even affection of any contemplated kind, it was just something he did, a way to connect them. It had probably come from before his eyes had learned to use the little light available to him, when it was easier to see by touch, to find where his mother was with his fingers and his mouth than with any of his other senses.
"What kinds of people are there?" He could feel the return of her pleased-with-him smile against his palm and didn't need to look up to know he had asked the correct question. A correct question, at least, sometimes there were more than one that she wanted from him when she introduced him to something new.
Thus began his instruction in the people of the world. The sheer amount of information was vast, and the tiny sponge of his mind had to expand many times to take it all in. He did not catch all of it the first time it was told, and every day, for the instruction lasted for months, she would require him to explain what he had learned the previous day before teaching anything new. Getting him to do what she wanted became easy as all she had now to do was withhold her lessons. Rivin did whatever was required to be given more. More knowledge, more kinds of people to imagine and add to his list of growing forces upon reality.
He learned Ilex was a human, the guards were mostly human, though there were a few of other races. Once he learned what types of people his mother knew of, he asked where they all lived. This too had pleased her and led to more lessons.
His questions expanded the world for him. His world had been his mother only at first, and then the cell where they lived, then the hallways and rooms between the cell and the lab. Now cities were opened up to him, countries, continents. She could not draw him pictures, but she required him to memorize which borders touched and where. How she knew, he did not know, nor did he think to ask. His assumption, if he'd had any at all, was that everyone learned as he was learning.
He asked more: What were the people like? Did they all speak different languages? And, eventually, Where do people come from?
This question did not make his mother smile, but she did not frown in disapproval either. She had picked him up, put him in her lap and explained in a clinical way, without any of the details that make the acts involved interesting or special, how people came to be.
Not in the way of gods creating races, though she did get to those lessons eventually, but in the way of individuals coming together to make another. He was quiet again when she finished and he remained so as she fell asleep. It was a long time before he fell asleep. When morning came, as much as it ever did in that place, and they had both woken, he had a new question.
How did I come to be?
And here, at last, was the question that would lead back to his original one. She explained that Dr. Iles had bought her for the purpose of making Rivin. The doctor had ensured she was healthy before he brought to her a male to mate with. It was not more than a few minutes before he had asked: Who was the male, who was his father?
She told him that his father had been part Dratori, part Lysanrin, possible with smaller parts of other races, but she only knew those two. She did not know his name, and had not seen him since she had become pregnant. Rivin wanted to ask if that was normal, but he didn't have all the concepts he needed yet to understand that there was such a thing. It only felt off, somehow. He peered closely at her face, examining it for signs of pain or other, more subtle emotions that would have told him how she felt on the matter, but found her to be placid.
The connections came together in his head over a little time, and when supper had been delivered through the little slit in the bottom of the door he was able to ask the right question.
"Why did Doctor Ilex want to make me?"
His mother did not usually continue to answer questions while they ate, but to reward him for getting back to where they had started she did. His food was forgotten as he listened. The doctor wanted to make a new type of person, out of the different types of people. He had learned of the different abilities of the races, as much as she knew, and now she explained that the doctor wanted to combine the better parts of different ones to make something better.
'Better' was a new concept all its own, for him to pull at and squish back together later. In that moment, he was too struck by the conclusion his eager mind had come to. Struck like a bell.
"If I passed the test. That the doctor gave me. Am I new? Am I better?"
Her smile had not been so small this time.
