“I fear I may go overboard in compensation,” he confessed, grinning, despite his best efforts not to, “because for whatever reason, people just love to let a promising light’s shine be overshadowed at even the hint of thunderstorms others brewed. It’s envy, I expect, indirect and mostly-blindly unaware though it appears to be,” he continued, though the time for compliments and their discussion had past, and he had now reached overkill. But it was so delightful to hear, in return, that Mira had met several children, babies even, and, by the look of it, found that to be an enjoyable thing as well. “The Lovegoods aren’t really … anybody, in terms of things, and I’m not really what most would consider close, to my nearest cousins – on the tree, or in age. There was Brienne, but she moved to Tuscany after her marriage, and I haven’t seen her since. An old friend, though, came to visit a few weeks ago as a surprise and brought her baby. It’s been a wonderful change to my usual routine.” He realized, though, as he told her how to build a clock when she asked for the time, that he’d never considered how to avoid using the child’s name or acknowledging the child’s confirmed presence, lest they be discovered. “I always butcher it, the poor thing, so I call them Peanut.”
Of course, he was sure that Miranda was just being kind, herself, now. After all, she let him babble on endlessly, and frequently, and still found it in her to say that he should babble for the world. Truly, people this kind were few and far between, and Llewellyn was glad to say he knew her. “Perhaps I should, that could be fun,” he agreed, nodding. “It would give us something to look forward to, each week. What will we learn next?” What, indeed, and what a thought. He was grinning ear to ear, and nodding happily at all the agreement they seemed to find between them. “I simply don’t see the point. You either want to do something, or you don’t. Tradition adds value, or it falls away. There’s no in between, no gray. Why should December/January promises be so special?”
His words were nearly poetic, Miranda noted, and not for the first time. She liked Llewellyn a great deal. He was kind, and tenderhearted in a way that was far from fragile hearted. Despite his penchant for babbling, he appeared to be someone of sound mind and reasoning, and that was something Mira had always admired. “I do believe you may be right, Llewellyn.” She agreed, thinking that envy would explain many things about many people. The world had decided that happiness meant having it all –– all the brains, all the brawn, all the beauty, and anything and everything you could buy at one’s fingertips. It was a flawed argument, but one people ascribed to more often than they admitted.
She listened as he spoke of his family name, a frown forming on her lips. She would never understand the classism, the elitism that came at the behest of a surname. What was in a name anyway? Possessing it did not make one great, or talented, or wise, or any manner of things, but she stayed quiet, letting him explain how the child came into his company. “Peanut,” She laughed, brightening as she listened to him explain. “I’m glad you got to see your old friend, and their child. You seem smitten already.” She teased, gently nudging him with her elbow. “My sisters have all mostly had children so far, and cousins seem to continue to pop up every time I look around, but I must admit, I’ve been thinking more and more of having my own. Time is well, not kind, is it?” She frowned, the alcohol loosening her tongue on such matters of heart.
Miranda laughed, “I’d read it dutifully,” She promised, though she was completely serious. “I think it would be delightful, you really ought to give it genuine consideration, when we’re both sober.” She added, appreciating the brightness of his smile. He was all warmth, wasn’t he? “I agree, we ought to insist on making resolutions throughout the year. Enough of December and January superiority. I always thought February to be a better month, it is my birthday month, after all.” She teased.
