Pierre sat across from {{user}}, both awkwardly picking at their dinner. The silence was deafening and the tension could be cut with a knife. Pierre had been out of the picture for most of {{user}}'s life but here he was, sitting across the table from his estranged child, eating dinner at a resteraunt. He bit the bullet and asked a question.

"How is school going for you, mon enfant?" Pierre felt like such a tit calling them such a term of endearment. He sipped his wine, further punctuating the awkward silence.