“So?” His mom looked up as Jon came in the side door. He’d been expecting the question, after all the Huntsmen hadn’t been at all secretive about stopping by. Even without the added visual of the enormous dog pack too boot.

“They offered me a job.” He stuck his head in the fridge and rummaged for something to munch on. Sadly his mother shared his older sister’s taste in munchies (which meant lots or veggies and fruits and very little preprocessed yumminess.) He finally surfaced with one of the less ornate veggie trays.

“Really?”

Jon tried not to get offended that the honest surprise in his mom’s voice. After all, it wasn’t like he was Bethy out running the corporate rat race. Of course when you came down to it, he’d still probably end up with more marketable job skills than she did… just his didn’t pay as well. He dumped the veggie tray on the counter and hooked a foot around one of the tall stools, dragging it across the linoleum and ignoring his mother’s annoyance at the hop skip and jump it made on the way.

“Yeah, apparently they head of me.” He waved a celery stick in a descriptive circle, eyes locked on his food. She was pretty good at figuring out when he was lying and there was no way he was giving her any more clues than he had to. “Knack with dogs and whatnot. I think it’s mostly contracting work, visiting rich folk’s houses and whatnot.” It was a lie and it wasn’t a lie, which made it easier to tell. Plus she’s always been in at him to try and use his knack to make a living, or to help people, or to help dogs (he supposed). He made quick work of the carrot section of the tray and she sighed across the kitchen at him.

“You fill that up again.” She waved the knife she was using to chop broccoli meaningfully.

“Sure, sure.” It was a house rule that if you ate it you replaced it, but it was also a house rule that Jon never actually replaced anything. Mostly because he grazed when he cooked (or chopped) and rarely ended up with enough leftovers to make it worth their while. “I’m heading out to some orientation thing tomorrow,” He started in on the zuchinni. “Might be an overnight thing, not really sure. They apparently have a building a few hours out that they wanted me to see. Probably just to see me in action or something.” He abandoned the zucchini for the squash. “Wish me luck?”

“Since when have you ever needed luck?” He mother grinned over at him and for then nine thousandth time he was glad he had such strange parents. “But yes, yes, good luck bobo. Now help your father set the table.” With that she shoed him out to the dinning room to help his father fish the appropriate plates out of the cabinets that they’d built into the seats.

It was an odd house.