A Boy Named Angelo [open, day after game]

He was a boy. He was six years old. He could remember his mother only through feelings, or sometimes, smells now. He had never heard her voice, or had her sing to him. His ears had prevented him from having those memories of his mother. He remembered her soft skin, and that she smelled like warm spices and sugar sweetness. She had been someone famous, and she was beautiful and stylish. But she'd loved him and played with him, and had taken him everywhere. Chocolate reminded him of her eyes.

One day, men had come. She told him to hide away, and they had taken her. They smelled of blood, and death, and sickness. That smell had lingered in their house, completely obscuring her scent. He never saw his mom again. She'd taught him never to call the police, but had given him numbers to call instead. None of those numbers had worked. Nobody answered, and nobody came. Then things had become horrible in California, and the people who had taken care of he and his mom were hurt. He had run when that happened. the air had been thick with smoke and something burning that shouldn't have been.

He hid on the streets and slowly lost everything he had left of his mama, but for his memories. So, every night, he pictured her face in his mind and remembered her smell when she had hugged him and kissed him, and cuddled him. Sometimes, it made the bad things go away. Sometimes it didn't. As he went to sleep that night, in the new house, with the woman who reminded him of his Mama, and her little girl, and the big bald person that felt right, felt like he did, the nightmares didn't come and find him. Both of the wolves had snuggled at the foot of the bed, and had reminded him of the dog he had had. The dog was a big German Shepherd. It had belonged to he and his mother. She had called him Faustus, and had shown Angelo how to sign to the dog and give it instructions. Faustus had been killed the day that the bad people took his mother. But the wolves were very similar. And the bald person reminded him of Titan. So many echoes of what he had had.

In the morning, Irena, the mama of the girl they all called Nadja, made breakfast. She made French toast, almost like his Mama used to make and gave he and Nadja fruit, and milk and sausages. There was butter and syrup and anything he might want to put on the French toast. He ate and ate, until he felt almost too full to move. And then, he and Nadja went to clean their faces and hands, brush their teeth and hair, and get ready to go to the classes taught on the caern. Well, Nadja had to get ready for class. He was not yet ready to attend, just yet. Irena explained about a "period of adjustment", and letting him settle in on the caern first. So, for the first time in two years, he didn't need to focus on his survival and safety. And he was at a loss as to what to do with himself.

Rhys awoke in the bed next to the boy, early enough to watch the sun rise. He lay still in bed however, wide awake and motionless. He didn't want to disturb the boy, not startle him with his absence.

Rhys stayed by his side all morning, guiding him to the table and assisting Irena with setting the table. Rhys helped himself to one plate of French toast, with butter and syrup. His eyes remain alert, and while his attitude appears mildly stoic, it switches instantaneously when talking to the children to something much warmer, inviting, and "big brother"-ery, like the older sibling who'd buy a bottle of booze for his underage sister.

After seeing Nadja off to school, he returns to the boy. Rhys' eyes unfocus for a moment, but then he closes them, and smiled down at the boy. He took a knee as he spoke with his hands:

"So, you have a whole day to yourself. Nadja will be at school for some time. Would you like a tour of the place?" Rhys pauses for a moment, then hangs his head in shame. "Forgive me, in all the adventure of yesterday with getting you settled, I've neglected to ask you your name. I'm Rhys. What's your name?" After finishing signing the sentence, he extends his hand in a handshake.

Angelo watched the Half Moon's hands make the letters of his name. His mouth formed the letters silently, as he were going to say it, though the formation of the letters by mouth were slightly askew. His hands flashed the sequence of letters twice, committing it to mind and nodding. "It is okay, Rhys. My name is Angelo." The boy signed his name slowly thrice over to make sure that Rhys caught it. He started to sign his last name equally slowly, but got mixed up partway through. He tried again, only managing to frustrate himself immensely. With an angry twist of his mouth, the boy appeared to give up. "Never mind. I am having a hard time remembering how to spell my last name. It is long. My mother taught me a long time ago, but I have not practiced it in a very long time." While he still seemed agitated, Angelo visibly attempted to settle himself, echoing a much older person's self possession.

"I would like to see the caern. I have never been on one, though I remember my mother speaking about it with Titan. He was like you."