[ He looks at the paper towel in his hands as if he's never seen such a thing in his little life. Napkin? he mouths again to himself, perplexed, and can't reconcile the strange piece of soft paper with the ornate, expensive fabrics he's used to.
But. When in Rome.
Jason, at least, likely won't have trouble keeping Damian clean. He's fastidious about mopping up the crumbs and grease with the napkin, taking care to wipe off his fingers and dab at his mouth in what is clearly mimicked technique, courtly and regal. Impossible to tell if he observed it from Talia, or from one of the few caretakers trusted with his existence. And, when done, he does his best to smooth the paper towel out on his lap, for when the rest of the courses are served.
(Bread. Cheese. He imagines it will be followed by, perhaps, dried figs, maybe cherry tomatoes. Simple fare, but hearty.) ]
Father.
[ The chime is prompting, offhandedly confident, although the boy's peering almost hesitantly up at him through thick, smudgy lashes -- those are Talia's mark, for sure. ]
...--What's your name?
[ Who is Jason, really? Does he hold a title? There are titles in America, aren't there? ]
no subject
[ He looks at the paper towel in his hands as if he's never seen such a thing in his little life. Napkin? he mouths again to himself, perplexed, and can't reconcile the strange piece of soft paper with the ornate, expensive fabrics he's used to.
But. When in Rome.
Jason, at least, likely won't have trouble keeping Damian clean. He's fastidious about mopping up the crumbs and grease with the napkin, taking care to wipe off his fingers and dab at his mouth in what is clearly mimicked technique, courtly and regal. Impossible to tell if he observed it from Talia, or from one of the few caretakers trusted with his existence. And, when done, he does his best to smooth the paper towel out on his lap, for when the rest of the courses are served.
(Bread. Cheese. He imagines it will be followed by, perhaps, dried figs, maybe cherry tomatoes. Simple fare, but hearty.) ]
Father.
[ The chime is prompting, offhandedly confident, although the boy's peering almost hesitantly up at him through thick, smudgy lashes -- those are Talia's mark, for sure. ]
...--What's your name?
[ Who is Jason, really? Does he hold a title? There are titles in America, aren't there? ]