[His response is more subdued than it might have been previously; the way his expression shifts with his eyes barely narrowing makes it seem he's merely trying to picture it, rather than, you know expressing shock or confusion at the idea of headless or crystallized blood anything—there's not even a furrow in his brow, though a distant concern for Dante remains in the back of his mind as always.]
Hm, [he replies.] Those wouldn't be my preferred introduction to the concept.
[It's only because he doesn't want to sour the pleasant mood that he doesn't inquire further.]
Well, if nothing drastic happens with transportation, I'm sure you'll be seeing more of the one I've been riding. I should warn you that it likes attention, though.
[There's a look they're familiar with: the look of someone who has gotten way too used to seeing things that don't make any sense. Honestly, for someone who comes from a world that Dante's always seen as rather safe and tame, he's doing a pretty good job.]
< Oh, yeah. Pretty sure at this point seeing a car driving around might be the most shocking thing I've seen in awhile. >
A welcome shock, in my case. I wouldn't even mind traffic at this point. [Not that he dislikes the horse or the riding, but it's strange how much he finds himself missing the mundane things.]
Friendly, yes, and friendlier when hungry. You might even call it bold.
< So what you're saying is that I should bring some with me if I want to leave a good impression. >
[They joke, but it does sound like a good idea. Even if a horse won't care about the whole clock thing, the fire--no matter how cool--might make it a little nervous.]
It certainly wouldn't hurt. And we might as well make use of the garden, hm?
[He did build it to be used, even for a fake horse made of data.
But he doesn't want to think about things being fake, right now. After a moment of watching them, a faint smile still on his face, he leans to touch his shoulder to theirs.]
By the way... Altius is only my family name. I don't usually tell people my given name if I have the choice, but...
[He doesn't bother trying to put much thought into what he's saying, anymore. There's no logic to explain why he wants to pursue it. Really, he should continue trying to separate himself from anything truly personal, anything identifying... He's already made that mistake before, he thinks, but—]
It's Zekarion. I don't usually like the sound of it, but I think I'd enjoy it in your voice.
[Funny, how much he's come to like a few of the things that so obviously set Dante apart.]
[There's a slyness to the way he tilts his head and narrows his eyes at them in response. If they're going to be like that about it—he can be a bit of a smartass, too.]
Exactly.
[When he hears it from them, he doesn't have to think about anyone else saying that name. He doesn't have to think about every complicated feeling he's had about it before. It's an entirely new set of sounds, put together for him alone, by the only person who can make them that way.]
... Hmm. I was right.
[Whenever revert to the older habit, he certainly won't have any complaints; expecting them to remember every time after months and months of knowing him as Altius would be unfair. Besides, it just means he'll like it more the next time they get it right.]
[A statement like that is enough to send warmth flooding through their chest all over again. They don't know what to say in return, as if all the words in existence went flying out of their head the moment Zekarion opened his mouth.
...Ah, but there is a question they should probably ask.]
[It might have been fun, but he's just happy to hear them agree with it—to call him that name at all, to try being together and everything that comes with that. He brings a hand up to the side of Dante's neck again like before, but this time touching just for the sake of touching, as is his inclination. Another moment passes before he offers another suggestion:]
Would you take a walk with me? I need the exercise, and I've been staring at a ceiling for the better part of the week.
[Just for a little while longer, so he doesn't have to think of anything but them and the fresh air he's been kept from. Just a little while.]
[They'd have agreed to begin with, but his touch makes it impossible to say no.]
< Of course. >
[It's nowhere near the same, but as someone who has spent a good portion of the past year of their life out and about on road trips (and boat trips) they feel like they can understand the feeling.]
< Might as well enjoy the weather before it starts to get too hot out there, right? >
I'm used to the heat myself, but you make a good point.
[It makes him feel strange to think of the changing of seasons; like it's been a lifetime since he arrived here, but not nearly long enough to encompass every experience and emotion he's had about it.
The thought of asking Dante if they'll see another autumn together is immediately dismissed, and he gets to his feet, returning his hand to his side, smile unchanged.]
Let's head out, then.
[It should be a calm, pleasant outing. Perhaps it's too optimistic for him to think that, but he's determined to make it one.]
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Hm, [he replies.] Those wouldn't be my preferred introduction to the concept.
[It's only because he doesn't want to sour the pleasant mood that he doesn't inquire further.]
Well, if nothing drastic happens with transportation, I'm sure you'll be seeing more of the one I've been riding. I should warn you that it likes attention, though.
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< Oh, yeah. Pretty sure at this point seeing a car driving around might be the most shocking thing I've seen in awhile. >
[Especially with the lack of asphalt roads.]
< So it's friendly then? >
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A welcome shock, in my case. I wouldn't even mind traffic at this point. [Not that he dislikes the horse or the riding, but it's strange how much he finds himself missing the mundane things.]
Friendly, yes, and friendlier when hungry. You might even call it bold.
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[They joke, but it does sound like a good idea. Even if a horse won't care about the whole clock thing, the fire--no matter how cool--might make it a little nervous.]
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[He did build it to be used, even for a fake horse made of data.
But he doesn't want to think about things being fake, right now. After a moment of watching them, a faint smile still on his face, he leans to touch his shoulder to theirs.]
By the way... Altius is only my family name. I don't usually tell people my given name if I have the choice, but...
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[They lean into that touch, still not used to it, still eager to follow.]
< You're... letting me use your given name, then? >
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[He doesn't bother trying to put much thought into what he's saying, anymore. There's no logic to explain why he wants to pursue it. Really, he should continue trying to separate himself from anything truly personal, anything identifying... He's already made that mistake before, he thinks, but—]
It's Zekarion. I don't usually like the sound of it, but I think I'd enjoy it in your voice.
[Funny, how much he's come to like a few of the things that so obviously set Dante apart.]
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[But there's something lighter to the ticks and tocks all the same.]
< Zekarion... Yeah. I can call you that. >
[They'll forget here and there, and the hope he forgives them for that. But they'll make sure it's written down somewhere if they have to.]
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Exactly.
[When he hears it from them, he doesn't have to think about anyone else saying that name. He doesn't have to think about every complicated feeling he's had about it before. It's an entirely new set of sounds, put together for him alone, by the only person who can make them that way.]
... Hmm. I was right.
[Whenever revert to the older habit, he certainly won't have any complaints; expecting them to remember every time after months and months of knowing him as Altius would be unfair. Besides, it just means he'll like it more the next time they get it right.]
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...Ah, but there is a question they should probably ask.]
< I take it it's "Altius" in public? >
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Don't concern yourself with that, my dear. I can correct anyone else about it myself—unless you just prefer to keep it between us.
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They wonder if that means it's going to be easier. Or... was it one of the hints they'd missed this whole time?]
< Oh, uh... No. I mean, if you're fine with it, I'm fine with it. >
[No matter how tempting it is to keep that secret to themselves.]
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[It might have been fun, but he's just happy to hear them agree with it—to call him that name at all, to try being together and everything that comes with that. He brings a hand up to the side of Dante's neck again like before, but this time touching just for the sake of touching, as is his inclination. Another moment passes before he offers another suggestion:]
Would you take a walk with me? I need the exercise, and I've been staring at a ceiling for the better part of the week.
[Just for a little while longer, so he doesn't have to think of anything but them and the fresh air he's been kept from. Just a little while.]
no subject
< Of course. >
[It's nowhere near the same, but as someone who has spent a good portion of the past year of their life out and about on road trips (and boat trips) they feel like they can understand the feeling.]
< Might as well enjoy the weather before it starts to get too hot out there, right? >
no subject
[It makes him feel strange to think of the changing of seasons; like it's been a lifetime since he arrived here, but not nearly long enough to encompass every experience and emotion he's had about it.
The thought of asking Dante if they'll see another autumn together is immediately dismissed, and he gets to his feet, returning his hand to his side, smile unchanged.]
Let's head out, then.
[It should be a calm, pleasant outing. Perhaps it's too optimistic for him to think that, but he's determined to make it one.]