Trowa's return glance says: Oh?

(It's also fond, in Trowa's impassive way, but that's not really a surprise.)

Trowa considers that assessment with all the seriousness it deserves.

"It's a little warm for them."

It's a little cold for humans from a temperate colony, however, yes.

"It's probably not the place for them," Trowa agrees, deadpan.

Milliways isn't all that cold, really. When you've been to Antarctica, Scotland doesn't seem so bad. (And that's leaving aside outer space -- but that's a subject Trowa prefers to leave aside.)

It's still a lot nicer to be indoors where it's warm, though.

Trowa takes a moment to consider how to accurately answer that.

"It's fairly scattered. More people seem to come from Christian-majority cultures than otherwise, though. I don't know about devoutness level. There seems to be a pretty high incidence of secularity, but it's hard to really be sure in this context."

"There are also some people who say they're gods and goddesses, but I haven't met anyone who seemed to worship them. None of them I've seen seemed to expect it."

Well, maybe kind of Aphrodite, but in a slightly different context.

There are a lot of notices on the barroom bulletin board at any given time, but only one that's party-related right now. And it's pretty conspicuous.

"Yeah."

"Last year a priest led a Christmas service." Trowa didn't go, but there were signs up. "Most of the public celebrations are fairly secular, though. In terms of significant observance of religious holidays, it seems to be mostly Christian and Jewish major holidays, and Cubefall. That's Cybertronian -- it's not of Earth origin, from the descriptions I've seen."

"Most of the other holidays are ones like Halloween and April Fool's Day, which aren't primarily tied to a religion for most people. If I had to guess, I'd say those were chosen to a large extent for the visibility of their public celebration."

In other words: for hijinks and minor mayhem.

Trowa's palm is warm from the coffee cup that's now in his left hand. He has another drink of coffee, and lets his fingers curl comfortably around Quatre's.

"Maybe," he agrees.

He hasn't checked the in-bar dates of lunar holidays in a while. He makes a mental note to do so; it probably isn't going to be relevant, but you never know.

He returns Quatre's glance -- a little inquiring, but idly. (He's wondering if Quatre has a particular reason, or is just being ecumenical in his pursuit of social contacts.)

That's very unrealistic altruistic of Guppy, if so. And Quatre's assessment of these things can generally be relied upon.

(It's not that Trowa is a complete cynic about human nature; he doesn't think everyone looks out for their own gain to the exclusion of all else. But there are lots of kind of gain, social included, and Trowa is used to monitoring everyone and everything just in case. He never turns off the mental note-taking.)

He nods slightly, acknowledging Quatre's statement.

Trowa's amusement doesn't show.

"Sorry," he says, deadpan, and passes over the half-full mug.

Trowa's boyfriend is kind of a weirdo.





(Trowa's amusement is significantly more visible now. If you know to look.)

Quatre and his extroverted sense of humor remain very strange.

Trowa is, nonetheless, entirely okay with the turn of this conversation. You can tell by the amused (and fond) light in his eyes, and the way he's not really troubling to hide it; you can also tell by the way his newly freed hand drops to settle lightly against Quatre's shoulder, and by the way he takes the cue to face Quatre just a fraction more directly.

Trowa will manage to get by without spying on Quatre's emails. Somehow.

He didn't bring a book, so this is one borrowed from Quatre's Milliways shelves. It's interesting; the Arab Union's recent political history is something Trowa knows in broad strokes, but not in as much detail as this book gives.

It's also slow going, because it's in Arabic. (Trowa's Arabic reading skills are pretty halting, although he's better with political terminology than with most jargon.) But half the point of reading this is practice, and the other half is an excuse to sit with Quatre slumped companionably against his shoulder, just a twist away from using Trowa as an outright backrest.

It works out.

"Maybe small ones," he agrees, in Arabic like Quatre. (In Arabic with a rather less upper-class accent; he's still working on being able to shift apparent social classes in this language.)

Trowa is sure he can!

Which is to say, he leaves all judgment calls on such fashion questions to Quatre. Trowa's own knowledge of clothes as social signals is considerable, but it's mostly calibrated to lower-class circles than Quatre moves in.

In any case, he has even less opinion on the matter than that, since they're not actually discussing it. He turns a page, instead.

Quatre has a strange sense of humor. But Trowa knew that.

Tolerantly, he carries on reading.

Most of the unfamiliar words in this he can either figure out from context, figure out from similar words he does know, or skip past without losing much. The third time he hits نُقُود in the same paragraph, though, he opts to ask Quatre about it.

Might as well, with a native speaker leaning against his shoulder and all.

"Okay."

That makes sense, in context.

Thanks, Quatre.

Trowa's already settled comfortably into the couch. He doesn't bother to move at the caress or the shift of Quatre's weight, except for the faint smile that warms his eyes.

When Quatre stays where he is, though, Trowa tips his head slightly, just enough to lean it against Quatre's as he reads.

Trowa tilts the book to a slightly better angle for Quatre, though he's not totally certain his boyfriend is awake enough for that to be relevant. It's just as easy for him, anyway.

And whether Quatre falls asleep or not -- well, Trowa's content to stay like this and keep reading for a good while.