8 Ash, 121
Rivin woke blearily, not having remembered falling asleep. The light he could see from under his door was wholly from fire, lamps, from their lesser flicker, and not enough to be early in the night. It must be only a few hours before dawn. He yawned, expansively, and kicked around until his couch-like arrangement of straw and covers was rearranged into a pallet. He might not sleep again before morning crept its way into his cell, but he could let his back stretch out and try. The scent of the hay was so familiar, so comforting. Even though he'd slept on much more comfortable beds and bedding, had even grown used to the finer options, the scent of a straw bed still brought him back to his earliest childhood.
His mind wandered back to the memories that had faded into dreams as he'd slipped from the waking world into the sleeping. Where had he been? Oh, yes, he had been deciding that he would make a poor parent, if he were ever forced into the chance to sire. The memory brought a sharp smile to his lips. It caught the meager light of the cell and reflected it back as his mind reflected back, drifting into the past.
~~~~
The information settled into him for the time it took them to eat a meal and then he continued by asking if he would be required to keep the new person and teach it, as she was teaching him. She told him, no, that the female half of the pairing would be the one that reared the child, if he was required to make one. He might not be, since he himself might be the thing that Doctor Ilex had been trying to make.
The answer was a relief, since he did not want to be stuck in a cell with a child trying to teach it about the world. His mother was patient, good at getting what she wanted, and she knew many more things than he did. Even if he learned all the things she knew, he was not patient, and, so far, he was not good at getting what he wanted. Glancing over at his mother an inkling began to wriggle its way up through his consciousness. How did his mother always get from him what she wanted? How did she get what she wanted from the people on the other side of their door, the few times she had asked for more than they had? In the same way that he had known not to question her knowledge, he now knew that simply asking her to tell him how she got him to do whatever she wanted him would not get the answers he wanted. Instead, he began to watch. It was not easy, to watch while also pouting or throwing the little tantrums that came when she wanted him to do something which he did not wish to do, but he tried. This had the combined effect of teaching him things more subtle than the lessons he could gain by asking, as well as nearly curing him of his argumentative behavior. His mother did not know the reason for the cessation of his babyish behavior, he had later considered she must have assumed he was either growing out of them or had recognized their futility. The truth wasn't something he'd ever told her. It became something of the stable of their relationship, her giving him information freely, him learning to conceal it.
When he had been around five, the doctor had again called for him, the meeting had gone much as the first had, with the exception that Rivin had not behaved as though he were frightened, had gone willingly and offered what small aid he could in the extracting of the samples. He had answered the doctor with his name when the man had called him by his, trying to be polite, but not understanding that children did not normally speak to adults on an equal footing. His words were not quite that of one equal to another, rather they were the tone which his mother used to speak to the doctor. He would learn that this was deference without subservience, but at the time it had earned him another of Ilex's odd, almost parental smiles. He seemed pleased, and pleasing him was, as far as Rivin had known, the sole purpose of his existence. He had been created, literally, to fulfill a set of requirements that he did not know, but somehow was succeeding at anyway.
When the doctor noticed the intensity of the scrutiny Rivin directed towards the instruments as they clipped his hair and nails, sank into his skin, and withdrew his blood, he had asked if the boy would like to know what he was doing. Rivin had nodded, eyes still looking far too large for his face changing from the green of curiosity to the stormy grey of request. The change was unbeknownst to him, since he had never seen more of himself than he could by looking down, but the subtle change on the doctor's face was something he noted. After spending months watching his mother for the very subtle changes in body language and facial expression that would tell him how she got what she wanted, the smile stretching across the human's face felt almost like shouting.
Dr. Ilex went on to explain not only the tools he had used on Rivin, but all the ones on the little tray that stood, shining metal bright. There were dozens, each of the same metal, each placed with precise care. The doctor's movements said Care, Important, Valuable as they moved from one to the next. He looked often to see if Rivin was still listening, as though he expected him to wander away in disinterest. The continued rapt attention of the pupil seemed the please the older male, but it was not the main emotion crossing the doctor's face. Rivin did not recognize the main emotion, but believed it to also be good, and the pleasure was there as well, so he must be allowed, even encouraged, to know the things being told. When the doctor stopped explaining there was a long moment of silence in which Rivin looked between the man and the instruments while he sorted through all the questions the information had bloomed and settled on the one he wanted the most. He might not be allowed more than one.
"Why would you need to cut open a person?" The doctor's brows rose and he glanced over as Rivin's mother, but she remained placid, revealing neither worry nor encouragement of her progeny. The doctor looked back down at Rivin and took his own time, considering. Rivin did not look away, only blinking when he needed to. The moment stretched long, but Rivin was used to quiet, used to waiting; they did not make him fidget or grow restless. The only visible reaction was the intensifying of his luminous eyes.
"Sometimes," The doctor's voice was even, clear, precise without making less the one he spoke to, "things go wrong inside a person and they must be cut open to fix the problem." Rivin listened, but did not speak, continuing to look up all the way to the doctor's face. "At other times, one may need to end the living state of a person."
The second sentence sounded like the end of what was going to be told to him, so Rivin blinked and waited to be told to go back to his mother. The doctor looked down at him, a shadow of confusion moving over his eyes. At last he said, "Are there more things you want to know?"
Rivin nodded, glanced at the set of tools, and then back to the doctor, looking for permission. The little smile, that pleased with its covering of something else was back, the man said,
"Ask."
Rivin asked.
The teaching lasted more than an hour, until each tool had received its question, and still, Ilex did not send him away. His mother stood the while time, sometimes listening, sometimes looking as though she was fully present but as though no thoughts passed through her, like she was a living stone. When at last he had no more questions about the little tools Rivin gave a nod of his small, shaggy-haired head, and a small step back, so the doctor would know he was finished. A laugh, short and surprised came from the man and then he should his head, not in disappointment, but what Riving would realize later was wonder.
"Are you done then?" Ilex's voice sounded amused now, yet still not in a way that made Rivin feel smaller. The boy nodded again. The doctor nodded back, stepping forward to lay a hand on Rivin's head. He did not ruffle, or pat, just touched for the span of a long breathe, then moved away. The guards came and led Rivin and his mother back to their cell.
Rivin woke blearily, not having remembered falling asleep. The light he could see from under his door was wholly from fire, lamps, from their lesser flicker, and not enough to be early in the night. It must be only a few hours before dawn. He yawned, expansively, and kicked around until his couch-like arrangement of straw and covers was rearranged into a pallet. He might not sleep again before morning crept its way into his cell, but he could let his back stretch out and try. The scent of the hay was so familiar, so comforting. Even though he'd slept on much more comfortable beds and bedding, had even grown used to the finer options, the scent of a straw bed still brought him back to his earliest childhood.
His mind wandered back to the memories that had faded into dreams as he'd slipped from the waking world into the sleeping. Where had he been? Oh, yes, he had been deciding that he would make a poor parent, if he were ever forced into the chance to sire. The memory brought a sharp smile to his lips. It caught the meager light of the cell and reflected it back as his mind reflected back, drifting into the past.
~~~~
The information settled into him for the time it took them to eat a meal and then he continued by asking if he would be required to keep the new person and teach it, as she was teaching him. She told him, no, that the female half of the pairing would be the one that reared the child, if he was required to make one. He might not be, since he himself might be the thing that Doctor Ilex had been trying to make.
The answer was a relief, since he did not want to be stuck in a cell with a child trying to teach it about the world. His mother was patient, good at getting what she wanted, and she knew many more things than he did. Even if he learned all the things she knew, he was not patient, and, so far, he was not good at getting what he wanted. Glancing over at his mother an inkling began to wriggle its way up through his consciousness. How did his mother always get from him what she wanted? How did she get what she wanted from the people on the other side of their door, the few times she had asked for more than they had? In the same way that he had known not to question her knowledge, he now knew that simply asking her to tell him how she got him to do whatever she wanted him would not get the answers he wanted. Instead, he began to watch. It was not easy, to watch while also pouting or throwing the little tantrums that came when she wanted him to do something which he did not wish to do, but he tried. This had the combined effect of teaching him things more subtle than the lessons he could gain by asking, as well as nearly curing him of his argumentative behavior. His mother did not know the reason for the cessation of his babyish behavior, he had later considered she must have assumed he was either growing out of them or had recognized their futility. The truth wasn't something he'd ever told her. It became something of the stable of their relationship, her giving him information freely, him learning to conceal it.
When he had been around five, the doctor had again called for him, the meeting had gone much as the first had, with the exception that Rivin had not behaved as though he were frightened, had gone willingly and offered what small aid he could in the extracting of the samples. He had answered the doctor with his name when the man had called him by his, trying to be polite, but not understanding that children did not normally speak to adults on an equal footing. His words were not quite that of one equal to another, rather they were the tone which his mother used to speak to the doctor. He would learn that this was deference without subservience, but at the time it had earned him another of Ilex's odd, almost parental smiles. He seemed pleased, and pleasing him was, as far as Rivin had known, the sole purpose of his existence. He had been created, literally, to fulfill a set of requirements that he did not know, but somehow was succeeding at anyway.
When the doctor noticed the intensity of the scrutiny Rivin directed towards the instruments as they clipped his hair and nails, sank into his skin, and withdrew his blood, he had asked if the boy would like to know what he was doing. Rivin had nodded, eyes still looking far too large for his face changing from the green of curiosity to the stormy grey of request. The change was unbeknownst to him, since he had never seen more of himself than he could by looking down, but the subtle change on the doctor's face was something he noted. After spending months watching his mother for the very subtle changes in body language and facial expression that would tell him how she got what she wanted, the smile stretching across the human's face felt almost like shouting.
Dr. Ilex went on to explain not only the tools he had used on Rivin, but all the ones on the little tray that stood, shining metal bright. There were dozens, each of the same metal, each placed with precise care. The doctor's movements said Care, Important, Valuable as they moved from one to the next. He looked often to see if Rivin was still listening, as though he expected him to wander away in disinterest. The continued rapt attention of the pupil seemed the please the older male, but it was not the main emotion crossing the doctor's face. Rivin did not recognize the main emotion, but believed it to also be good, and the pleasure was there as well, so he must be allowed, even encouraged, to know the things being told. When the doctor stopped explaining there was a long moment of silence in which Rivin looked between the man and the instruments while he sorted through all the questions the information had bloomed and settled on the one he wanted the most. He might not be allowed more than one.
"Why would you need to cut open a person?" The doctor's brows rose and he glanced over as Rivin's mother, but she remained placid, revealing neither worry nor encouragement of her progeny. The doctor looked back down at Rivin and took his own time, considering. Rivin did not look away, only blinking when he needed to. The moment stretched long, but Rivin was used to quiet, used to waiting; they did not make him fidget or grow restless. The only visible reaction was the intensifying of his luminous eyes.
"Sometimes," The doctor's voice was even, clear, precise without making less the one he spoke to, "things go wrong inside a person and they must be cut open to fix the problem." Rivin listened, but did not speak, continuing to look up all the way to the doctor's face. "At other times, one may need to end the living state of a person."
The second sentence sounded like the end of what was going to be told to him, so Rivin blinked and waited to be told to go back to his mother. The doctor looked down at him, a shadow of confusion moving over his eyes. At last he said, "Are there more things you want to know?"
Rivin nodded, glanced at the set of tools, and then back to the doctor, looking for permission. The little smile, that pleased with its covering of something else was back, the man said,
"Ask."
Rivin asked.
The teaching lasted more than an hour, until each tool had received its question, and still, Ilex did not send him away. His mother stood the while time, sometimes listening, sometimes looking as though she was fully present but as though no thoughts passed through her, like she was a living stone. When at last he had no more questions about the little tools Rivin gave a nod of his small, shaggy-haired head, and a small step back, so the doctor would know he was finished. A laugh, short and surprised came from the man and then he should his head, not in disappointment, but what Riving would realize later was wonder.
"Are you done then?" Ilex's voice sounded amused now, yet still not in a way that made Rivin feel smaller. The boy nodded again. The doctor nodded back, stepping forward to lay a hand on Rivin's head. He did not ruffle, or pat, just touched for the span of a long breathe, then moved away. The guards came and led Rivin and his mother back to their cell.
