He wonders, of course, of the girl’s father – as Agetta no doubt had as well, when she had come upon him in a similar situation. It is not jealousy that he feels, exactly – he still doubts himself as a parent, and would not blame anyone for wanting a child without Garbage’s own tainted blood, the heaviness of that sin. And besides, Garbage is not a jealous man – he has lived too long and done too much to have any right to jealousy.
(His own faults aside, he has always simply been grateful for whatever affection he can get from those he loves. A starving dog may beg, but it does not begrudge the master his feast, so long as scraps are thrown his way.)
The thought is brief, and he looks again at the girl. She has her mother’s eyes, he notes, yet as he looks further at her he notices something strange, that there is something to her that looks like Bad. Not in color, of course – the two couldn’t be more different, white with rainbow compared to black with stars – but the architecture of them. He wonders if this is what parenting does, makes you see your own child in all the other children.
“Holler,” he repeats, smiling. Certainly a kinder name than Bad (or Garbage, for that matter), and it fits her, in its way. His smile stays on as she asks about his son, and he sighs – a happy sigh, or close to it – and speaks.
“He’s doing well. He’s more…powerful than I knew initially. I don’t always know how to help him, having no such talents myself.”
Sleaze had been a magician’s child, too, but had inherited nothing from him. Sleaze had been like him, sometimes so alike that Garbage would wonder if he had a father at all.
He takes a step closer. His heart beats faster, as it always does in her presence, as if any moment she will turn on her heel and run. He could touch her, from here. He wants to – he always wants to – but he holds back. He finds her gaze, looks at her.
“Are you all right?”
@[Agetta]