[Oh, no. Absolutely not. Henry does not want to be called One instead of his actual name. Though the dark ink embedded in the skin of his inner left wrist no longer hurts like the day he was given that tattoo, it still sears into his mind in a different way. He's always aware of it; it feels like a mark of ownership, and he hates it. It makes him angry, some days, having to stare at it.]
My name's Henry.
[He says it quickly, assuredly, like it's some manner of declaration. Good for Hella for having her own name, and good for Ninety-Nine for making it hers, regardless of it being assigned or not. But Henry will always be Henry to himself, no matter what people call him now. (Or what people call him in the future.)]
It's nice to meet you, Hella.
[Awkwardly, very straightforwardly, he sticks out his arm for a handshake.]
no subject
My name's Henry.
[He says it quickly, assuredly, like it's some manner of declaration. Good for Hella for having her own name, and good for Ninety-Nine for making it hers, regardless of it being assigned or not. But Henry will always be Henry to himself, no matter what people call him now. (Or what people call him in the future.)]
It's nice to meet you, Hella.
[Awkwardly, very straightforwardly, he sticks out his arm for a handshake.]