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"Makes us very portable," says Finnah. "And I'm obvious from a distance so people go up to me in the street and start speaking Alteisec or whatever, wanting directions, whatever, these guys get less of that."

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"I help out when I hear somebody having language trouble, though," says Mial. "Seems the polite thing to do."

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"I have met two - no, uh, three, and a half - girls who I later hooked up with that way," says Aurin.

"...I'm now kind of curious about your total," says Ivan.

"Eh, I haven't really been counting? Depending on what you count exactly maybe fiiiive hundred...? I mean it's been more than half a century, it adds up."

"Damnation," breathes Ivan.

"I'll probably get married soonish," Aurin adds, "past two hundred now so there's no longer a question of falling behind aging-wise, and I'm sort of tired of breakups."

Ivan shakes his head in wonder.
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"Ivan has been out-Ivaned," snorts Miles.

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"Sure, by someone who didn't lose his virginity till he was a hundred and fifty or so, sounds like -"

"Hundred forty-something," Aurin volunteers, and then he looks awkwardly at his aunt and uncle, suddenly remembering that they're there. "Anyway, that's hardly fair."

"Fine, fine."
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Miles finds this exchange deeply hilarious.

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Avar and Koridaar are carrying on a murmured conversation over there and might plausibly not even have heard.

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Well, that's a relief.

"Wait, when you get married, do you just... I assume this doesn't do anything about the aging rate or the sudden stop at the end," Ivan says.

"Well," says Aurin, "no. The sort of standard life trajectory is you marry various non-dragons in series between the ages of two hundred and a thousand, and then you settle down with a dragon about your age, and if you have trouble finding one of those there's reasonably competent matchmakers."

"That's..." Ivan shakes his head.

"I mean, people do different things," shrugs Aurin, "maybe that fellow's blood has just made Aunt Koridaar immortal? But that's the trend."
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"Dad's on his second wife, but he's barely said two words about the first one," says Mial.

"Ditto mine, actually, now that I think of it," says Miles. "I wonder if they corresponded...? I don't think we can find out easily from here."
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"If you'd be comfortable asking, we probably have enough grace period for you to lean out the door and see if he's looking at his pen messages right now - do you not even know her name?"

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"I would feel very weird sending my father a random pen message about his dead first wife," says Miles. "I think I'll pass. And no, I don't."

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"I could've sworn I knew it at one point," says Ivan. "Can't call it to mind."

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"Oh well," says Miles. "We can live without knowing."

"I don't think Aeducan ever married," volunteers Stalas. "Kept house with two or three noble hunters, had five or six kids, they all made it to the genealogy records but none of them made it to the general lore."

"Two or three?" says Miles, eyebrows skyrocketing. He glances over at Avar, who is still focused on whatever quiet chat with his singular wife he is having.
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"Maintaining relationships with multiple partners has been a done thing in many places for a long time," Linya tells Miles. "It's more of a stylistic choice than anything within Cetaganda."

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"Yes, I'm aware," says Miles. "I wouldn't find it remarkable if it weren't an alt of my father. It's enough of a strain imagining him with somebody who isn't Mother, let alone imagining him with three such somebodies at once."

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"Is this a 'parents thing' or about Aral's alts specifically?"

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"Parents thing," says Ivan.

"Human parents thing?" suggests Aurin. "I don't expect her to do it anytime soon but if Mother remarried, again, I'd roll with it."
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"...There may be overlap," says Mial. "I'm having a hard time imagining Dad with somebody else, too."

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Finnah is not looking at any one or making any sounds. She's spacing out and leaning on a wall.

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"How do you guys know Finnah, anyway, she doesn't seem to be one of Linyabel or either of Mark like at all."

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"Oh," says Mial. "Uh. Has anyone mentioned yet that shrenhood is contagious...? Well, it is. Correction, it was, the miracle-workers fixed that on their way through. But a hundred and seventy years ago there were no miracle workers available, and somebody left a shren egg sitting in a public park near my house when I was a few weeks old, and out hatched Finnah, and when there's a shren and a dragon near each other in natural form regardless of intervening materials, the dragon gets got, and that is how I'm a shren. And, my parents being my parents, Mom took a personal interest in Finnah and Dad backed her, and... at first it looked like Finnah's mom was fine to keep her but then that turned out not to be true so my parents took over."

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Finnah mutters to herself but doesn't add anything to this description.

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Mark has been getting quieter as the number of people in the room increased.

But now, abruptly, he says: "I want to try an experiment. Miles, Mial, over here. Bar, can I have something in the way of a reasonably easy to learn, reasonably interesting strategy game neither of them has played before? Since I imagine the overlap is null."
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Bar comes up with a game involving colorful pegs that can be flipped over and hopped around in simple patterns but over a large and changeable board.

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"Thank you." He gestures Mial and Miles to a table and deposits the game in front of them. "Sit. Play. Stalas, you can join in if you feel like it."

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