Eldin would never turn down a few days to relaxed away from the castle (which, no matter how hard he tried, always managed to remind him of some upcoming assignment no matter what corner he'd hidden himself away in), but holidays were special. They were days to see his mother—and now, he supposed, his sister—who was always hiding away at her day job at the hospital.
(Even though there was no guarantee she'd be home anymore than she was during the summer, hospital heads always got Christmas off. That was a sort of perk of being a "head" of anything, he supposed: more holidays, more breaks, and more pay for cleaner work.)
"I'm not sure what my mother has planned this year, to be frank. She doesn't write to me as much as she used to. I think she realized how grown I was once the prefect badge arrived," he joked with an unconcerned shrug, flipping the found textbook in his hands. Not that it really mattered; all holidays were the same—he bickered with Vesta and Rosamund and eventually parked himself in some quiet corner of the cousin with a cousin or two.
He finally clutched the textbook against his chest, an indicator that he was done with the conversation. It never hurt to be civil with the other Slytherins, but he could only continue the facade of interest before his impatience became apparent (and it wasn't like there was anything inherently interesting about Christmas in a poor, muggle household, right?)
Clucking his tongue, he back up slowly, contemplating a polite farewell before he fled to continue his packing. "I suppose I should write to her, though. You know, make sure she's home from work when Vesta and I get home. An empty home isn't exactly a warm greeting," he joked somewhat uncomfortably, before an awkward silence ultimately led him to retreat back to his dormitory.
(Even though there was no guarantee she'd be home anymore than she was during the summer, hospital heads always got Christmas off. That was a sort of perk of being a "head" of anything, he supposed: more holidays, more breaks, and more pay for cleaner work.)
"I'm not sure what my mother has planned this year, to be frank. She doesn't write to me as much as she used to. I think she realized how grown I was once the prefect badge arrived," he joked with an unconcerned shrug, flipping the found textbook in his hands. Not that it really mattered; all holidays were the same—he bickered with Vesta and Rosamund and eventually parked himself in some quiet corner of the cousin with a cousin or two.
He finally clutched the textbook against his chest, an indicator that he was done with the conversation. It never hurt to be civil with the other Slytherins, but he could only continue the facade of interest before his impatience became apparent (and it wasn't like there was anything inherently interesting about Christmas in a poor, muggle household, right?)
Clucking his tongue, he back up slowly, contemplating a polite farewell before he fled to continue his packing. "I suppose I should write to her, though. You know, make sure she's home from work when Vesta and I get home. An empty home isn't exactly a warm greeting," he joked somewhat uncomfortably, before an awkward silence ultimately led him to retreat back to his dormitory.
