Waffly confirmation that something happened is as deep as he's willing to delve into the incident, even if he catches a note in Jude's voice that sounds, for a moment, like he's hoping for more news from the other side. But you know, if he wanted to catch up with his goddamn sister he could have not vanished into thin air right before she showed up.
"Didn't ask if they found you. Just if they're still looking."
It seemed to Near that they might have given up the ghost by now, come up with an alternate for whatever position they wanted Jude to play and left their deserter to bungle through the real world on his own merits. Whatever those are. (The sixty-four thousand dollar question, Can Jude be charming, really, when he wants to be, or is that the sole purview of the sister?)
If that were the case, it would muddle Near's plan a little. Not that it's really a plan. It's more like a stretch goal, the gristly bits of a grudge he's been chewing at for too long and that, if he's being honest, he assumed was more of a fleabit hobbyhorse diversion than a real possibility, because, come on, what were the odds Jude was going to make an appearance? But here they are.
"Look, I still don't know what the fuck you're trying to do, but I'm guessing you haven't done it yet." He waves his unoccupied hand vaguely toward the mall promenade, toward the world around them, has disaster been diverted? "Hopeless causes," he adds. "I looked it up. Saint Jude. Got himself axed. Nobody prays to him for anything because they mix him up with Judas, so he jumps at whatever comes his way even if it's impossible. I'm sure you knew that." Thanks, Wikipedia. He looked up a few other things, too, enough to leave him with a fevered suspicion that Old Courtland's text spam might have been a veiled attempt to warn him against Jude. And oh, if only he'd known from the start, Jude could have had whatever he asked for, anything at all, because nothing was ever more of a driving inspiration to Near Farr than an opportunity to not do what his father would want him to. His whole life has been molded artfully around the armature of being a disappointment. But he has a new thing now.
"Didn't ask if they found you. Just if they're still looking."
It seemed to Near that they might have given up the ghost by now, come up with an alternate for whatever position they wanted Jude to play and left their deserter to bungle through the real world on his own merits. Whatever those are. (The sixty-four thousand dollar question, Can Jude be charming, really, when he wants to be, or is that the sole purview of the sister?)
If that were the case, it would muddle Near's plan a little. Not that it's really a plan. It's more like a stretch goal, the gristly bits of a grudge he's been chewing at for too long and that, if he's being honest, he assumed was more of a fleabit hobbyhorse diversion than a real possibility, because, come on, what were the odds Jude was going to make an appearance? But here they are.
"Look, I still don't know what the fuck you're trying to do, but I'm guessing you haven't done it yet." He waves his unoccupied hand vaguely toward the mall promenade, toward the world around them, has disaster been diverted? "Hopeless causes," he adds. "I looked it up. Saint Jude. Got himself axed. Nobody prays to him for anything because they mix him up with Judas, so he jumps at whatever comes his way even if it's impossible. I'm sure you knew that." Thanks, Wikipedia. He looked up a few other things, too, enough to leave him with a fevered suspicion that Old Courtland's text spam might have been a veiled attempt to warn him against Jude. And oh, if only he'd known from the start, Jude could have had whatever he asked for, anything at all, because nothing was ever more of a driving inspiration to Near Farr than an opportunity to not do what his father would want him to. His whole life has been molded artfully around the armature of being a disappointment. But he has a new thing now.