"I did want to see what kind of pun you'd come up with," he says, with a snort of laughter--at the puns themselves, and at the twitch of the kitten's whiskers as he makes his determined little way up toward Vandelin's shoulder. "They seem to be a specialty of yours. But there are other options, it's true..."
He thinks Myr deserves the chance to throw a few suggestions into the ring, too, and perhaps once the office is occupied again, he'll ask Araceli--she's had so many pets to name, and outdone herself every time.
The question makes him glance over, thoughtful, concealing the barest little stirring of unease. No, there would be no reason for Anders to know very much in the way of the personal when Vandelin hasn't volunteered it--nothing about friends, of which he has few, or heroes, of which he tries to have none, and certainly not about family, of which he has an embarrassment of riches as far as mages go, and Myr doesn't talk about it either, because twenty years of desperately-ingrained habit is not so easily set aside when there's still incentive to stay quiet.
"My family would probably have wanted me to name him something deadly dull and pious like Hessarian," he says lightly, able enough to remember back to the alienage. "I would have tried to get away with Meowferath, but from everything I recall of him, I doubt my father would have been amused." He detaches the kitten gently from his robes and cradles him, thinking. "I only had sisters, or I'd name him for one of them..."
But there had been Uncle Iolan, too. The idea hits him with an accompanying surge of emotion that makes him clam up altogether, loath to let even a friend see it.
"Anyway, I'll give it some more thought. He may be Hasmeowl yet. I'd be sure to credit you, but I think everyone will know a name like that was your doing without my having to say so." He grins.
no subject
He thinks Myr deserves the chance to throw a few suggestions into the ring, too, and perhaps once the office is occupied again, he'll ask Araceli--she's had so many pets to name, and outdone herself every time.
The question makes him glance over, thoughtful, concealing the barest little stirring of unease. No, there would be no reason for Anders to know very much in the way of the personal when Vandelin hasn't volunteered it--nothing about friends, of which he has few, or heroes, of which he tries to have none, and certainly not about family, of which he has an embarrassment of riches as far as mages go, and Myr doesn't talk about it either, because twenty years of desperately-ingrained habit is not so easily set aside when there's still incentive to stay quiet.
"My family would probably have wanted me to name him something deadly dull and pious like Hessarian," he says lightly, able enough to remember back to the alienage. "I would have tried to get away with Meowferath, but from everything I recall of him, I doubt my father would have been amused." He detaches the kitten gently from his robes and cradles him, thinking. "I only had sisters, or I'd name him for one of them..."
But there had been Uncle Iolan, too. The idea hits him with an accompanying surge of emotion that makes him clam up altogether, loath to let even a friend see it.
"Anyway, I'll give it some more thought. He may be Hasmeowl yet. I'd be sure to credit you, but I think everyone will know a name like that was your doing without my having to say so." He grins.