Roland smiles, casting a palm out to Jumblie so she can rest on his hand. She does so happily, squealing loudly as she settles down, sat and swaying to invisible wind.
"Do you now? Well, thank you."
It's not obvious with the way he responds, controlled and collected as one might have Roland be at all times, but he feels incredibly relieved when they say things like this to him. He's had to be a Role for a long time, and it's the purpose of his life without question; but there are other sides of him that had to be sacrificed in the process of growing up. He was always the youngest, the smallest, the one with the baby-face who people called an upstart until he could prove himself on the big stage. There was no room for his love for movies, or stories, or hobbies that had nothing to lend to an ailing nation.
Yet here, here he is welcomed just as he is, when his façade breaks for a second and his entirety is seen for who he wishes he could still be. It's a bridge he's long crossed, but from time to time, the validation feels nice. The affection and acceptance is...nice.
"Teach me how to fold something. I wanna learn from you. I like knowing about the things you're good at too, pup." Such fondness overflows, urging him to slide out of his bench in order to sit directly next to Inigo, asking for some space. Is it a tight fit already? Sure. But neither of them mind the proximity, and never have. Jumblie settles nicely on his shoulder instead, popping in and out of existence until she comfortably sits there in content, higgledy silence.
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"Do you now? Well, thank you."
It's not obvious with the way he responds, controlled and collected as one might have Roland be at all times, but he feels incredibly relieved when they say things like this to him. He's had to be a Role for a long time, and it's the purpose of his life without question; but there are other sides of him that had to be sacrificed in the process of growing up. He was always the youngest, the smallest, the one with the baby-face who people called an upstart until he could prove himself on the big stage. There was no room for his love for movies, or stories, or hobbies that had nothing to lend to an ailing nation.
Yet here, here he is welcomed just as he is, when his façade breaks for a second and his entirety is seen for who he wishes he could still be. It's a bridge he's long crossed, but from time to time, the validation feels nice. The affection and acceptance is...nice.
"Teach me how to fold something. I wanna learn from you. I like knowing about the things you're good at too, pup." Such fondness overflows, urging him to slide out of his bench in order to sit directly next to Inigo, asking for some space. Is it a tight fit already? Sure. But neither of them mind the proximity, and never have. Jumblie settles nicely on his shoulder instead, popping in and out of existence until she comfortably sits there in content, higgledy silence.