Qubit only pokes his head into the dining room, finding it about the same as when he built it. Privately, he wonders if there were ever enough Longinmouths to fill it. To him, it more evokes the image of young Carlisle seated at one end of the table, his father at the other, half a mile away. He reserves comment, however, apart from offering a brief "Sorry to hear that" regarding Kevin's death. Truthfully, he knows next to nothing concrete about the man - but as with any unobservable void, there's a lot to be inferred from how he affected those around him.
Carlisle's affliction, on the other hand, he knows much more about. The correlation with near-death experiences, the slow turn to undeath, the scarring, the "black bile," the heavy social stigma it incurred... But one thing he doesn't know is how it happened. Carlisle's never volunteered that information, and given how traumatic it must have been, Qubit hasn't wanted to pry.
He now knows when it happened. (That young? He was just a kid.) From the sound of it, Carlisle's uncles reacted to their only nephew's near brush with death in about the way you'd expect: by making an effort to cherish him and build positive memories, because you never know how long you'll have one another. But Qubit doesn't miss whose idea the group portrait was... or, more importantly, whose it wasn't.
He isn't sure whether he should ask this, but the question's burning a hole in his pocket, and he can hardly stop himself.
no subject
Qubit only pokes his head into the dining room, finding it about the same as when he built it. Privately, he wonders if there were ever enough Longinmouths to fill it. To him, it more evokes the image of young Carlisle seated at one end of the table, his father at the other, half a mile away. He reserves comment, however, apart from offering a brief "Sorry to hear that" regarding Kevin's death. Truthfully, he knows next to nothing concrete about the man - but as with any unobservable void, there's a lot to be inferred from how he affected those around him.
Carlisle's affliction, on the other hand, he knows much more about. The correlation with near-death experiences, the slow turn to undeath, the scarring, the "black bile," the heavy social stigma it incurred... But one thing he doesn't know is how it happened. Carlisle's never volunteered that information, and given how traumatic it must have been, Qubit hasn't wanted to pry.
He now knows when it happened. (That young? He was just a kid.) From the sound of it, Carlisle's uncles reacted to their only nephew's near brush with death in about the way you'd expect: by making an effort to cherish him and build positive memories, because you never know how long you'll have one another. But Qubit doesn't miss whose idea the group portrait was... or, more importantly, whose it wasn't.
He isn't sure whether he should ask this, but the question's burning a hole in his pocket, and he can hardly stop himself.
"...What did your father think?"