I met Faroe too, Jedao realizes, mental voice soft with an odd wonder. He doesn't love her, but she was as lovely as she was strange. He'd never met a child before. Seen in passing, in ports, but not interacted with.
As soon as he knows he won't be saying anything he shouldn't, the starlight bits on the fox brighten.
She's smart and funny and clever and kind, and she loves it when me and John change shape. She doesn't think it's weird at all, even when we don't look anything like human.
And blob stays quiet this time, because he might never be able to out-lie Jedao, but he has at least learned the obvious lesson that people can't know what you don't say.
Telling wouldn't change anything except maybe for making things harder on him, and then it would be my fault.
Jedao is, unfortunately, quite good at learning things people don't say, but is at least not going to call him on it. It's usually a good lesson.
I disagree on every point, Jedao tells him mildly, but utterly certain.
Feeling isolated and alone is terrible. It makes every other problem worse. Even if I can't help - and maybe I can - being understood is good for people.
He bops Edwin very lightly, with one finger, about where his nose ought to be.
And it's good for you too, Mr. Buck, since you're a person too.
So there.
And if I did make things harder for this person, explicitly against your wishes, that would be my fault, for being cruel and inconsiderate and an overprotective busybody. Whereas I like to think I am exactly the right level of busybody.
He gives Edwin another little kiss on the top of his head.
Is it that you don't trust me to respect your choices, or that you don't think I can control myself if I know?
Which is a slightly mean way to phrase it, but also, Edwin isn't trusting him, so he's going to get needled just a bit about the implications.
He unfolds into cat all at once, an actual cat, though one that seems to have celestial patterns under its skin, giving the occasional shimmer through his fur.
If you really don't want me to know, Jedao says softly, immediately scritching behind Edwin's ears, Or if you promised someone to keep their secrets, I'll stop asking.
But you don't owe it to anyone else not to confide your own troubles to the people who love you. Not ever. My love for you is for you. And that also means we get to decide what that looks like together.
His ears flick back and forward again as he tries to figure out why he doesn't want to say, why it's so hard. Guilt settles in his chest at the idea of getting Charlie in trouble, and resentment promptly comes to chase guilt's tail.
...Charlie. He saw me playing with Faroe and... was... concerned.
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No buts. It was... fine.
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Um. I met my inmate's... sister? Sister like John and I are brothers. She was nice. And I met F- family of Arthur's. That was fun.
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She liked Jeep very much.
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She's smart and funny and clever and kind, and she loves it when me and John change shape. She doesn't think it's weird at all, even when we don't look anything like human.
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All at once Edwin dims, literally and figuratively.
She's a good person. She's like Arthur, she can tell what someone's feeling.
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Is that so?
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Yeah. Even when she's upset too.
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Concerned, but calm.
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By accident or on purpose?
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He didn't want to scare Faroe.
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Sort of.
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He thinks probably not. But it invites correction.
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No. His guest was nice.
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Normally things spill out of him easier than this.
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Telling wouldn't change anything except maybe for making things harder on him, and then it would be my fault.
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I disagree on every point, Jedao tells him mildly, but utterly certain.
Feeling isolated and alone is terrible. It makes every other problem worse. Even if I can't help - and maybe I can - being understood is good for people.
He bops Edwin very lightly, with one finger, about where his nose ought to be.
And it's good for you too, Mr. Buck, since you're a person too.
So there.
And if I did make things harder for this person, explicitly against your wishes, that would be my fault, for being cruel and inconsiderate and an overprotective busybody. Whereas I like to think I am exactly the right level of busybody.
He gives Edwin another little kiss on the top of his head.
Is it that you don't trust me to respect your choices, or that you don't think I can control myself if I know?
Which is a slightly mean way to phrase it, but also, Edwin isn't trusting him, so he's going to get needled just a bit about the implications.
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That's not-- No, I don't think that at all.
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But you don't owe it to anyone else not to confide your own troubles to the people who love you. Not ever. My love for you is for you. And that also means we get to decide what that looks like together.
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...Charlie. He saw me playing with Faroe and... was... concerned.
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It sounds like you were having a nice time and then things got really messy and upsetting. What happened?
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