Thunderlight

(Cont.) Meet Lenny

He'll sneak out later. When the moon is up and it's too dark to see him, there's no way Lenny will notice him creeping out. As much as his plan gives him comfort, it also comes with a subtle irritation. Since when did he have to sneak away from commoners?

"So, I've got seven siblings: Merek, Cedany, Emaline, Isabel, Peter, Arthur, and Rose. I'm the youngest, which ain't got as many perks as my siblings think it does," Lenny rambles as he mends some blankets. Montgomery tries to drown him out so he can focus on sulking. "They're all married and moved out now. They still live in town though, and they keep pressuring me to get married but at the same time they guilt me for wanting to move out? It's confusing. Anyways..."

He's been at this for hours, just babbling. Doesn't he ever get tired? Doesn't he run out of things to say? Surely his life isn't that interesting. Although, having seven siblings sounds like a nightmare. Maybe that's why Lenny turned out to be so weird.

For a moment, it makes him think of his own siblings. What are they doing right now? Have they made a case for him to their father? Or were they just as happy to see him gone? He's willing to bet on the latter. As bitter of a thought as that is, he doesn't really harbor any resentment for them. If he was in their shoes, it's what he'd do. They wouldn't blame him, either. They know just as well as he does that getting Father's approval is a cutthroat game.

Does Lenny have to compete with seven other people for his parent's praise? He almost finds himself asking before he remembers that he wants nothing to do with the country bumpkin who tied him to the bedpost with String Shot.

"Everytime I talk about leaving the town my family acts like I'm stabbing them in the back." Lenny rolls his eyes. "As if it means I'm never coming back! They can't blame me for wanting to travel a bit; I've never left the village. Ever," Lenny states, shaking his head as he sews thread through some fabric. "My ancestors moved here from somewhere farther inland and stayed here until they died. And so did their kids. And their kids, and their kids and their kids, and... well. You get the drift."

On top of all of Montgomery's grievances toward life, his nose begins to itch. He glares at the ceiling. Could he ask Lenny to take the threads off him? It probably wouldn't do much good. He's starting to realize that this commoner isn't as easy to boss around as the others.

"I know they just worry about me, especially with all this scary Zekrom nonsense going on. They don't want me to die like so many people already have," Lenny says, looking contemplative and solemn. "A lot of people are on edge about it. A lot of people are suffering. I think it's great that you're fixing to bring an end to that."

Montgomery is pretty surprised to be drawn into the conversation. Lenny has seemed pretty content to chatter to himself for the rest of the night, and he thought his grumpy vibes would chase off any desires to engage him. It usually does. Whenever he's in any sort of bad mood, his father flat out refuses to speak to him until he's neutral again.

It takes him a moment to form a response. "...Naturally."

"Did you like the soup I made? You ate two bowls; you must've been hungry," Lenny remarks, setting the blanket aside.

His mouth waters slightly as he remembers the potato stew that Lenny brought him. "It was okay."

Lenny smiles, as if he knows some great secret. "I'm glad you liked it."

For a moment, silence drifts between them. It's not tense. The quiet doesn't hound him in anyway, but it is awkward. He surprises himself with how much he wishes Lenny would say something.

Eventually, he can't take it anymore and he blurts, "When are you gonna let me go?"

Lenny folds the blanket and rises from his chair. "You should be better by tomorrow. If you stick around, I'll make you a breakfast before you leave. It's the least I can do for someone who helped me out so much."