The idea that they would use each other's names but refuse to do the same for the Voithos kind of set him on edge—but considering everything else he’d learned about the Gaians, it was just another drop in the bucket. The thought occurred to him that there might be some unhinged, foundational belief that had caused it, like the discontinuity aversion they had going. But then again, he was almost certain that if he asked someone like Kalter about the reason, she would reveal that the Gaians actually did it because they were shit.

“It’s a societal convention to use a person's name when you are speaking with them; at least, it was where I come from,” August said, trying to explain something he’d kind of taken for granted. “Refusing to do that without a good reason would be breaking the convention, and thus, classed as rude behaviour—does that make sense?”

“It does,” Melon said, clearly hesitant. “I have another question.”

“That’s fine,” August said.

“You use their names—you use my name,” Melon said. “But you also allow your own name to be used as the primary form of address?”

None of the others had appeared at odds with using his name—had they? Rittan had used it almost as soon as he’d called him a jackass. Kalter had gone out of her way to avoid speaking to him at all, at least in the beginning, but even then, she didn’t seem the type to care about being respectful of Gaian customs. Haiko and Boko had both used his name only hours after he’d summoned them—although Boko had reverted to using things like Boss soon after. Was Melon simply more resistant to breaking the custom than the others—enough so that he’d actually really noticed it for the first time—or was it something about their individual experiences that had led to the discrepancy?

“It’s the same rationale, really; I would be uncomfortable not using your name because I would feel as if I’m being rude to you,” August hedged, “How do you usually address a Gaian if you can’t use their name?”

“Most verbal communications were kept short and structured to avoid having to use forms of address at all, but when that was impossible, we would use Child of Gaia,” Melon said, “Sir was an acceptable substitute, and sometimes a reference to their primary profession if it was particularly noteworthy—Doctor, or Professor, for instance.”

Child of Gaia—it should have occurred to him already, considering almost all of them had called him that at one point or another.

“That seems cold,” August said, studying her face. “You look like you still have questions—you can keep asking until you are satisfied.”

Melon seemed a bit relieved at the encouragement—attempting to work within this new paradigm must have been clashing with her previous experience.

“That is very kind of you,” Melon said, her middle set of hands linking together in front of her belly. “The social conventions you spoke of are referencing human interactions in order to explain your treatment of us—but these are two entities that are not on the same social level as one another.”

The statement actually peeled back some of the confusion for him. She was under the assumption that he either didn’t realise there was a social divide or that he didn’t really understand what it meant—but he was fully aware that it existed; he just didn’t agree with it being applied that way in the first place.

“The society I come from does its best to treat all people as being equal, and that means affording the same level of respect to everyone,” August said, “But I’ll admit that we aren’t really at the level of creating new intelligent lifeforms yet—human-to-human interactions are really all I have to go on.”

Melon twisted her hands together for a moment, and he let out a quiet laugh.

“That still doesn’t really answer your question, does it?” August guessed, “To make it more clear; I want to use your name and for you all to use my name because, as far as I’m concerned, we’re all just people.”

Melon didn’t really seem as if she knew what to say in response to it, so he just nodded.

“I actually have a question for you,” August said, clicking his fingers together. “If you feel like answering one of mine.”

“Of course I will,” Melon said, still wringing her hands together. “You—you certainly don’t have to ask me for permission.”

“Thank you,” August said and noted the way she visibly straightened up at the words. “When you first woke up, I heard you say a woman's name—were you allowed to call her by name?”

“Yes, and I was granted the privilege of using her name when we were in private,” Melon said, lowering her gaze, “I suppose it was foolish of me to assume she had been the one to bring me back without first assessing who was present.”

“Well, it’s nice to know that at least one of them used names,” August offered, rather than touching the self-recrimination. “Junil Eltis was mentioned when we were talking about bringing you back—were the two of you close?”

“We were near one another quite often,” Melon said in agreement. “I was Junil’s assistant for many years, and so I spent most of that time in her presence.”

It seemed so odd to him that they could refer to the Gaians by name when they weren’t present, but they were forbidden from doing so when they were—what a backwards-ass society.

“That’s not exactly what I meant by close,” August said, “It was more like, were the two of you friends or did you both get along really well together.“

Melon seemed to grow flustered again, and while she was figuring out how to answer his question, he actually set about marking out the large, rectangular space on the ground for the fire.

“Junil was always exceptionally understanding, even when I made mistakes,” Melon said, speaking carefully. “I don’t think it would be respectful or appropriate for me to refer to my assignment as her assistant as anything more than that.”

To him, maintaining that distance and refusing to call her a friend would have counted as less respectful. August almost pushed further, but he could tell by the answer that she wasn’t exactly comfortable talking about it in that way.