Considering he had spent the vast majority of his life alone, with little inclination towards extroversion, the sense of awkwardness he felt re-entering the kitchen without Bethany spoke volumes about the impact she had had on Jacopo's life. Or perhaps it was the impact Birch had. Or Shaman. IT was different, here – tremendously different to the oppressive old buildings in which he'd worked and studied, the dirty city streets on which he'd lived, and the underground prison in which he'd been confined on Earth. When the Organisation had offered him a new life here, they had certainly delivered. Jacopo only wished he could have come here of his own accord, without any strings attached or debts to pay.
He didn't feel awkward around Birch, he realised; it was Torram's presence coupled with Bethany's lack thereof which did it. Whether that was because two were a couple and three were a crowd, or because he simply didn't know Torram and felt he had to, Jacopo didn't know. Maybe it was just the social setting. He couldn't remember the last time he had been to dinner somewhere, unless you counted the prison canteen.
He glanced around the kitchen when Birch asked him to lay the table, as though expecitng crockery to magically appear out of nowhere, and was somewhat relieved when Torram leapt into action. As the teenager placed a set of plates on counter, Jacopo picked it up and carried it off to the dining table. It was a further relief when Birch filled the silence by picking up on a subject which he could actually engage with.
“Good,” he grunted. It seemed for a moment like that was all she was going to get out of him, before he continued along in the same sort of tone. Tone was not much of an indication of Jacopo's mood or interests; whether he actually spoke for longer than a monosyllabic word on a topic, as he did now, was a much more accurate way of gauging a passion. “We're planting the bulbs for spring all over the western grounds, but the ground's still hard. Only got daffodils and crocuses down so far, and we've had a hell of a time even getting hold of pleiones. Some lord has cut our budget without considering how we're even supposed to set off the beds without orchids.”
To look at Jacopo, he was the last person anyone might think would get irritated over budget cuts for flowers. The depth of irritation was genuine; what had initially just been a cover job he now felt a sense of devotion to. When Birch complimented his gardens, a very rare glimmer of pride lightened his step noticeably. It had been a long time since anyone had had anything positive to say about anything Jacopo did.
|
