Climbing onto a stool (or up a countertop, her other favorite) isn't gonna happen with her knee all cranky and her legs taped up, so Triss takes the icepack and claims the chair across from Ruth. There's nothing special about the old books as far as she can tell, but Argus sure does look excited about them and Hannibal's got his happy smug face on. He likes when people likes his things, she's noticed. Fixing dinner's one of the best parts of the day for that reason.
Ruth laughs into her hand, maybe because she can see these aren't exactly parenting manuals. There's something kind of dry about the way she looks at the stack, and then at Triss on the other side of them, that tells Triss she must be missing something here. "You must have been quite the boyscout," she says, which conjures up a mental image so freaky Triss misses the first part of Hannibal's reply and only tunes back in on 'why were you so certain she is one of you?'
The other three go grave and serious. Triss clutches the ice pack to her knee and tries not to be noticeable. Adults are a lot more likely to talk about important stuff if they forget she's in the room, especially when that stuff has to do with her. Only her eyes move, flicking between them all. None of them look like they want to say 'no' to Hannibal's claim that she's like them, but what does that mean? What did he mean? She's sort of like him, too, isn't she? But he cut himself out of that, because he's a mutant and she's not? Does he know for sure that they aren't, too? Is it a mutant nose thing? Does she smell like them, under the kelpie stink?
"Historically, yes, you'd be correct," Argus says, "But you don't see that as much these days, for a variety of reasons."
"Modern security systems are harder to work around," Ruth interjects.
"Cold Iron limits their movements Overhill," Danae mutters.
"And changechildren in general have...fallen out of style with the fae in recent decades," Argus nods. He looks back and forth between Hannibal and Triss, the adult who has more context for his explanation and the child affected by it. "Any modern attempts have to be based on more than just whims. They have to be worth the risk." His tired gaze settles on Triss, eyebrows crimping together apologetically, "Whatever you are, you're either very interesting, very powerful - ultimately the same thing as far as the fae are concerned - or you pose a significant threat to them in some way."
That doesn't sound good. Triss went through half a dozen foster homes in her eighteen months with CPS, she knows exactly what bullies do to new threats. Stomp 'em out fast. Hannibal's face reflects none of her dismay, all politely flat and assessing. Why can't her stupid magic let her read minds?
"The list of things that trigger that sort of reaction from the Courts is fairly short," Argus has turned back to Hannibal, now. "There's always something new under the sun, especially these days, but..."
"Occam's razor," Danae's not even looking at them, she's got her chin in her hand and she's staring out the window, a frown fixed on her face. Argus nods anyway.
"Exactly, it's a good idea to work from that list, for starters. We have a pretty decent guess as to what it is about her that set them off."
"Unless you have some thoughts?" Ruth speaks over the soft beginning of the kettle's whistle. "You're her father, you've obviously been doing your homework, you hit on 'kelpie' quickly. What's your assessment?"
no subject
Ruth laughs into her hand, maybe because she can see these aren't exactly parenting manuals. There's something kind of dry about the way she looks at the stack, and then at Triss on the other side of them, that tells Triss she must be missing something here. "You must have been quite the boyscout," she says, which conjures up a mental image so freaky Triss misses the first part of Hannibal's reply and only tunes back in on 'why were you so certain she is one of you?'
The other three go grave and serious. Triss clutches the ice pack to her knee and tries not to be noticeable. Adults are a lot more likely to talk about important stuff if they forget she's in the room, especially when that stuff has to do with her. Only her eyes move, flicking between them all. None of them look like they want to say 'no' to Hannibal's claim that she's like them, but what does that mean? What did he mean? She's sort of like him, too, isn't she? But he cut himself out of that, because he's a mutant and she's not? Does he know for sure that they aren't, too? Is it a mutant nose thing? Does she smell like them, under the kelpie stink?
"Historically, yes, you'd be correct," Argus says, "But you don't see that as much these days, for a variety of reasons."
"Modern security systems are harder to work around," Ruth interjects.
"Cold Iron limits their movements Overhill," Danae mutters.
"And changechildren in general have...fallen out of style with the fae in recent decades," Argus nods. He looks back and forth between Hannibal and Triss, the adult who has more context for his explanation and the child affected by it. "Any modern attempts have to be based on more than just whims. They have to be worth the risk." His tired gaze settles on Triss, eyebrows crimping together apologetically, "Whatever you are, you're either very interesting, very powerful - ultimately the same thing as far as the fae are concerned - or you pose a significant threat to them in some way."
That doesn't sound good. Triss went through half a dozen foster homes in her eighteen months with CPS, she knows exactly what bullies do to new threats. Stomp 'em out fast. Hannibal's face reflects none of her dismay, all politely flat and assessing. Why can't her stupid magic let her read minds?
"The list of things that trigger that sort of reaction from the Courts is fairly short," Argus has turned back to Hannibal, now. "There's always something new under the sun, especially these days, but..."
"Occam's razor," Danae's not even looking at them, she's got her chin in her hand and she's staring out the window, a frown fixed on her face. Argus nods anyway.
"Exactly, it's a good idea to work from that list, for starters. We have a pretty decent guess as to what it is about her that set them off."
"Unless you have some thoughts?" Ruth speaks over the soft beginning of the kettle's whistle. "You're her father, you've obviously been doing your homework, you hit on 'kelpie' quickly. What's your assessment?"