here in my quiet satellite
#8
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Geneva listened intently as Jefferson spoke, surprised by how candid the Patriarch was being. This mood was definitely a rarity. Perhaps he was a "morning person," waking up refreshed with a brand new outlook on life. Or perhaps, and more likely, she had caught him between waking and dreaming, before he had the time to piece his armor together too tightly. She knew that for some reason or another, she had a way of getting to him. But she found that she preferred this interaction, not because it was easier, but because it didn't seem to upset Jefferson so much.

She blinked once, her only out of step reaction when Jefferson mentioned his life before now. She wanted to stop him in his tracks, and ask him to go back to that topic and elaborate. She wanted him to ask a million things, but held her tongue curled against the roof of her mouth to keep from interrupting him. He was volunteering information, and about himself no less, with very little prompting. She wondered if ice cream was being sold in hell.

Geneva smiled gently when he admitted the last bit. "I can teach you, Jefferson," she said almost instantly, excited and sincere. She realized she might be coming on too strong and turned the enthusiasm down. "Only if you'd like me to."
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