Relatable. Not that the carpenter needed to know.

“Fascinating,” he said with an amused arch of the brow. “What makes the top of the list?”

“Being born” he replied dryly and flipped the chair, now fixed, back on its feet.

So soon. Maybe he needed to get a baseball bat and say he found some things in the attic.

“Now, were he a confirmed bachelor, he would not have made that problem.”

Claude couldn’t help but laugh.

“I think my family is enough evidence that he has no control” he knew he shouldn’t have said it, but did it ever feel good to.

He wrinkled his nose but laughed.

“A Mr. Charles Darwin insisted that only the fittest for survival survive and pass on those heritable traits.” He set his book aside and put his arms on the chair. “And yet. And yet. Tell me, Mr. Longbottom – where would your impulsive father be without a few confirmed bachelors and spinsters with the time unfettered by offspring to carry instead the weight of his decisions?”

These words would come back to haunt him after a certain conversation.

Claude just shrugged and moved to mix the paint to get the right shade of black to match the one already there. “I don’t think he has ever given any thought to his decisions, even before us. I’m just the easiest child to remember and the easiest to despise for when his life isn’t working. Without me there would be some other poor bastard.”

What was Mr. Meijer still doing in there? Anyway, nothing interesting. Everyone knew Claude's father was an ass. Rose turned and left for the ball.

Enough children to not remember sounded like his father’s dreams and his mother’s nightmares. She had made it quite clear that she desired more children than she could count as grandchildren.

He was firmly of the opinion (though he would never speak it to her) that having actual passtimes was an excellent way to become loose with the names of nephews … nieces? family.

“What makes you so memorable?”

“First born” he shrugged and moved over to start painting. “Aren’t you going to the ball?” He asked, looking back at him for a moment before focusing on his task again.

Zechariah raised his brows, mouth pinched but amused. He took a watch from his pocket, glittering silver, and popped it open.

“Dear me, child – what graver sin than to be on time to a ball?”