The little mare is standing unusually still, head slightly tilted, eyes not quite focused. To the casual bystander she probably looks quite odd, but really, she’s just listening. She wasn’t born with the ability to hear the ghosts, and so she has never quite mastered the trick of not trying to listen to them with her ears, even though she’s well aware that it isn’t her ears she’s hearing them with. But she’s drawn from her attention to their bickering with her name reaching her physical ears, and she jerks her hazel eyes around to find the source.
And – oh. Oh. The pony blinks once and tries to reconcile the idea of Ivar, here, where she was looking for her daughter. For the moment, the voices are quiet. Perhaps they’re as shocked as she is. She takes a couple of sideways steps and turns to face him, considering what she wants to say. Ivar isn’t her first one night stand – honestly, he’s not even her worst decision in partners. But that doesn’t mean she’d intended to see him again.
A hum of disapproval at that, from Sorenson. Most likely because HE was her worst decision, and it’s his daughter she was supposed to be finding here today. “I’m looking for my daughter,” she finally says, realizing the silence is too stretched. “Uh, she’s blue. Ish. Her name’s Carwyn.” In her head, Sorenson has gone strangely silent. Kellyn wonders what he knows that she doesn’t. Don’t you have anything to say, she thinks, annoyed, you got us into this mess.
’I think it’s your indiscretions that got us into this mess.’ It’s not Sorenson, but rather the perpetually annoyed Bethanie. There’s an extra edge to her voice, though, and Kellyn is suspicious. A quick jaunt into the past doesn’t reveal anything, beyond the night of mutually satisfactory fun she and Ivar had had, so she flits into the threads of possible futures instead, and realizes why her aunt is so annoyed. In almost all of the futures, there’s a child. ‘Are you going to abandon this one, too?’ That is Sorenson, and the recrimination in her uncle’s voice is enough to make her take a second look at Ivar – and his home.
“Is this you home, Ivar?” she asks, trying to smile rather than scowl, but both expressions are in her eyes. She supposes it would be a nice place to grow up; the warmth, the sun, the sea. Better than the Tundra, for sure. The real question is, would Ivar make an acceptable father? Or would the child be better in the hands of Kellyn’s family? Her father and grandfather had done well enough raising her first few children, after all.
daughter of cagney and elite
@[Ivar]