(Untitled)

[theravenboy]

The key unlocks a small lounge with armchairs, a changing table, a refrigerator, an enormous stock of diapers in what seems like hundreds of brands. (One particular brand seems designed for infants with multiple tentacles.) Bran, his arms fully occupied by a fussing Owen Arthur, lets Will open the door for him

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[sign_seeker]

Will lets out a breath of surprised almost-laughter.

Bran always (did) has had a knack for cutting close to the quick, and often closer than he knows.

"Yes. You could say that."

He tucks his hands in his pockets, and the gesture is comfortably casual, but Will's face is not, quite; Bran is someone who does not get the amiably bland mask. For many reasons.

"I did just meet Jamie a little while ago," he says, after a moment. "But it was not in Milliways. It was outside the door, and not precisely in nineteen eighty-six. Nor eighty-one, which is when I am from in one sense just now."

The words are calm. The tone, and Will's face, are all Old One now.

[theravenboy]

Bran goes still; the baby in his arms lets out a surprised cry at the change in the way Bran holds him.

After a moment, Bran eases himself into one of the armchairs, and props the child against his shoulder.

"I see," he says, very quietly. "How long, Will?"