The excitement in his gut swirls dangerously close to the sheer nerve as his mom is gently shoved his way by a grinning Malos, and he can't stop himself from stepping forward to catch her in case she trips. It's a habit he picked up from being around Colette before she grew out of her clumsiness, and he can't quite shake it.
Alternate-universe son is a concise way of putting it, Lloyd ponders, attempting to calm his rapidly increasing pulse because Anna Irving is staring at him, her son from another dimension, the one with a mother he never got to grow up with. He straightens up his posture without realizing it, preens a little at her attention because Dirk's comments on his being grown were either irritated mumbles or Lloyd come get this thing on the top shelf.
Lloyd really wants to impress her. Even though his heart is pounding so hard in is chest he believes even people without his enhanced hearing could hear it, there is a desperate desire to know the motherly affection he never really got to experience, a childish need to be coddled and praised by his mom. And even though this isn't his mom, the Lloyd of this world is only seven, (don't think about how they haven't seen him, don't think about -) and his actual mother's consciousness lies within the stone in his left hand, he ignores it for just a second, taking a moment to breathe in the fact that this is Anna Irving, the woman he lost the chance to be around.
Lloyd starts to feel the tell-tale tickle behind his eyes and blinks again, willing himself to keep the smile on his face sincere and genuine, because it is, but it's scared, just a little bitter. He's already attached.
He wants to hug her, his heart is screaming for a hug because he can't remember what it felt like when his mother held him. But he doesn't know this Anna, doesn't know if she'd appreciate it, doesn't know whether or not "alternate dimension son" counts as stranger territory, so he holds out his hand instead, defaulting to a handshake.
"Hi," Lloyd says, and it's so soft, so tentative, betraying his hesitation. "I'm Lloyd, your, uh," he chuckles, "alternate-dimensional son."
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Alternate-universe son is a concise way of putting it, Lloyd ponders, attempting to calm his rapidly increasing pulse because Anna Irving is staring at him, her son from another dimension, the one with a mother he never got to grow up with. He straightens up his posture without realizing it, preens a little at her attention because Dirk's comments on his being grown were either irritated mumbles or Lloyd come get this thing on the top shelf.
Lloyd really wants to impress her. Even though his heart is pounding so hard in is chest he believes even people without his enhanced hearing could hear it, there is a desperate desire to know the motherly affection he never really got to experience, a childish need to be coddled and praised by his mom. And even though this isn't his mom, the Lloyd of this world is only seven, (don't think about how they haven't seen him, don't think about -) and his actual mother's consciousness lies within the stone in his left hand, he ignores it for just a second, taking a moment to breathe in the fact that this is Anna Irving, the woman he lost the chance to be around.
Lloyd starts to feel the tell-tale tickle behind his eyes and blinks again, willing himself to keep the smile on his face sincere and genuine, because it is, but it's scared, just a little bitter. He's already attached.
He wants to hug her, his heart is screaming for a hug because he can't remember what it felt like when his mother held him. But he doesn't know this Anna, doesn't know if she'd appreciate it, doesn't know whether or not "alternate dimension son" counts as stranger territory, so he holds out his hand instead, defaulting to a handshake.
"Hi," Lloyd says, and it's so soft, so tentative, betraying his hesitation. "I'm Lloyd, your, uh," he chuckles, "alternate-dimensional son."