He followed Anatole's gaze to somewhere past, iced eyes falling on the emerging form. He recognized her quickly, though the Aston boy had to search briefly for a name, as it had been a long time, after all. Attila didn't have much knowledge of dear auntie Aurèle, other than that she had made him some gloves or something at some point, which he assumed were still tucked away in the inner depths of his den, unused. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful, no, but perhaps Attila had just grown out of needing them. ...Or, maybe Attila had just gotten sick of them. He wasn't sure.
He made assumptions by the expressions on their faces even before Aurèle's words confirmed them--as he though, he and Anatole were related, cousins at that. The white boy's ear twitched; he couldn't remember having any immediate family other than his mother and siblings, and it was strange to him to know Anatole could be both related to him and not completely useless a creature like Noir or Claudius were.
"Aha," the Aston boy grunted, surprise lacking in his voice. He cracked a smile, however. "You're looking lovely as always, auntie," he said, sarcasm prevalent--Attila may have been the manipulative type, but something about his aunt turned him away from his usual tendencies.
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