fandomtownies | Parents' Weekend Meet & Greet, The Park, Friday Afternoon, Post II

Warren wasn't hiding. See? Warren was here, being... not hidey. If you counted having his wings out but tucking himself away close to the treeline as 'not hidey.'

He wasn't hiding from... anyone in particular? Kind of.

Look, it counted. Just trust him.

As she glanced around at the incredible multitude of people, Cassima couldn't help but feel incredibly overjoyed to find something that reminded her so much of home.

"My goodness!" she said. "Alexander did not tell me there were Winged Ones here as well! Pardon the observation, but it's just such a pleasant surprise."

"Winged Ones?" Warren blinked up at the unfamiliar face, offering the girl a game-but-unsure sort of smile. "It's, uh, good to make somebody feel at home?"

He shrugged a little, spreading his wings slightly. Because apparently that was a good thing to be doing? He hoped.

"I'm probably not from the same place that you're from, uh, Miss...?"

"Cassima," she supplied with a little laugh. "Queen Cassima of the Land of the Green Isles. The Isle of the Sacred Mountain is kept by my retainers, the Winged Ones, so, no, you're right, there is but a slim chance you're from there--" He would have recognized her if that were the case! "--but I couldn't help being intrigued."

"I'm Warren," he offered, his smile going a little wry. One would think he'd have more experience with royalty after so long on the island. Hell, he was dating a Queen. A slight bow probably wouldn't go remiss, at least, right? And so he ducked his head and lowered his shoulders slightly, before smiling up at her again. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, your Highness."

And Cassima returned the bow with a duck of her own head, and dip of a faint curtsey. "And it is a pleasure to make yours as well, Warren. I have to admit, that name has a ring of familiarity to it, as well. You wouldn't happen to know my husband, Alexander of Daventry, would you?"

"Oh, Alexander!" Warren perked up a little, nodding a bit at the familiar name. "We ran the fraternity together, actually, before he left. He's doing well, I hope?"

"Yes, that's it exactly!" said Cassima with a laugh. "He's told me about the fraternity, but he failed to mention your wings."

The poor man probably didn't want to run the risk of offending the Winged Ones with his wording, even in the privacy of their bedroom. Then again, knowing how they took to Alexander, she couldn't blame him.

"And he's doing quite well, thank you. He's around here, somewhere, probably trying to keep up with his sister. Have you met Rosella yet? I imagine she's tearing about, trying to avoid her mother about now..."

"I don't think I've met her personally," Warren admitted, "but I'm pretty sure we have a few classes together. She seems nice, though. I might have to introduce myself to her sometime."

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"Warren." Lucivar had his arms folded over his chest. "Anything to say?"

He was free to interpret that any way he wanted.

"... Hi?"

Warren was so good at this!

"How are things?"

...

Dammit, being backed against the bushes was probably not the best of ideas at this point, was it?

"Fine fine," Lucivar said casually, looming just a little. "But, you know, it's not me I'm interested in. What's new with you?"

There was a hint of a purr in that question. Maybe he was being friendly!

There was an 'ish' at the end of that, right? Friendly-ish?

"Not... much?" Oh, the looming. It was taking all of Warren's backbone to keep from shrinking back from that looming. "Why do you ask?"

Honestly, Warren. You still looked as if you hadn't slept in a month, here.

"Every time I see you, I think you can't possibly look worse than the time before," Lucivar rumbled. "And then I'm proven wrong the next time."

That Lucivar, always so full of compliments.

"You look like something dragged through Hell facedown." He quirked an eyebrow. "Wings're less stupid-looking, though."

"I guess there's that," Warren answered, squaring his shoulders a bit and... no, mostly just squaring his shoulders. "There was a... thing. We took care of it. It was just kind of..."

Yeah, Warren had all of the communication skills.

"It was too close to home."

Lucivar eyed him closely, then sighed. "I'm going to grill you about that," he warned. "Perhaps when we're sparring."

You didn't think you were getting out of that, didja boyo? Lucivar would give you the day, since the first day was always crazy. But tomorrow...

"How goes your homework?" Look! He was all mentory!

"I talked to a couple of people," Warren offered, smiling faintly. At least he'd managed that, right? "One of the teachers here, and then someone from someone else's world. It's not quite what you'd wanted, I know, but at least they were both adults, and I trust both of them."

... The fact that one of them had technically been himself didn't matter, right?

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"Warren?" Oh, could that voice sound any more tentative? Warren Jr. approached his son with his shoulders squared and his jaw set to match, but there was no hiding the uncertainty that settled around him as he stopped just far enough back to take in the sight of the boy.

Wings out. Tucked just far enough to the sidelines to avoid being the center of attention, at least, but still hiding, to some degree.

"You look good, son."

"Dad." Warren glanced his father's way, slipping his hands into his pockets and offering a tentative smile. It had been... a while, and he'd spent the past couple of weeks trying to nerve himself up to this moment. And now that it was here, he mostly just wanted to fly the hell out of there. "Hey. Good to see you could come."

Mostly!

"You've been keeping busy back home, huh?"

See Warren totally duck around anything and everything that might be on his mind right now. Go, Warren, go.

"Well, there's been a lot to keep busy with." Warren was picking and choosing his words carefully, now. The things that he was keeping himself busy with, after all, were the very same things that had driven his son away in the first place. "Paperwork. Legal matters. The usual."

"The usual," Warren echoed, nodding a bit. More than aware that his father was trying to skirt around the rough stuff. Expecting it. Kind of thankful for it, actually. He wasn't going to let the messiness from home go, especially not after seeing the way mutants were treated in Jono's world, but here in the middle of the picnic probably wasn't the place for it, either. "It's been, what, two weeks? Three?"

Two years?

He was going to have to own up to that, and he didn't really want to, just yet.

"Three," Jr. confirmed. "And I have to say, I'm impressed with the school's willingness to involve parents so often in their children's educations. Most boarding schools I've known of only have events like this perhaps every semester or so."

He gave his son another looking over, trying not to frown a little at the way Warren was carrying himself just then. More confident, somewhere in the shoulders. More tired, somewhere in the eyes. It was worrisome.

"Yeah, well..." Warren managed something that edged onto a smile, though it was a little forced, at best. "It's... probably not as frequently as you think."

Okay. Where to start? Where to start without his father thinking that he's lost his mind? Maybe he could just take off and not have to have this conversation. That wouldn't be a bad idea right?

"More like... months, since the last time. More than a few. And they've been busy ones." His thumb slipped out of his pocket, one glossy black claw idly tracing the curve of the top of his belt where it followed his hip. "Really busy."

It took Jr. a moment to realize what it was that he was looking at, there at the end of his son's hand.

"... Warren?" He knew it was a misstep to do so, but he was staring, yes. For a heartbeat, he'd hoped that perhaps his boy was just taking in some sort of strange fashion that teens these days enjoyed. And then the heartbeat had passed, and the thickness and curve of that claw made it impossible for him to pretend that it was anything but what it was. "Warren, Son, what's happened, since you came here? Not another--"

He stopped himself. There was no way he'd be able to say the word mutation without contempt. No way he'd be able to actually ask that question that was on the tip of his tongue without potentially losing his son.

The timeframe that Warren had mentioned was taking a temporary back seat to the fact that he didn't even recognize his own son's hands anymore.

Warren refused to look away. When his father looked at him like that, when he wore the exact same expression that he wore over a decade ago, when he'd first discovered his wings. Warren wasn't going to look away from that.

He squared his jaw and looked his father dead in the eye.

"Even if it was, would it matter?"

Not you, his father had said. And here he was with wings and claws and a life, and things happened that scared the crap out of him. Things happened that were huge and horrifying and over his head, and maybe he wasn't big enough to face them all. But this? This was him. No matter what his dad said. No matter what he wanted.