[Paul has no right to give Palamedes the brief look he does, the subtle incline of his head and raising of his eyebrows in disbelief as Palamedes asks if this is worse. He could pretend to himself that it's entirely reflexive, but it isn't, and he doesn't.
He does still have the decency to look ashamed of himself as he looks away. Maybe he'd feel differently if he had ghosts, if he could strip the flesh from his dead family and send their bones walking around a dead house. Perhaps dying here is more trivial, the loss less acute or not present at all, just a transition to another state of being. What does he know about it? Nothing, and how dare he assume otherwise.]
A test. [Paul takes in his surroundings, and in the midst of everything else, he finds time to think that necromancers have over-committed to an aesthetic style at the expense of good taste or health. But Palamedes seems less wretched out here, so again: what does he know?] I'd like that. I'm trying to get as much practice as I can before this is over.
[And yes. His hand. Paul fights the childish urge to act like he doesn't know what Palamedes is talking about:] It's not too bad. I'm taking care of it.
[But still: he raises his right hand and offers it to Palamedes, not quite looking at him or it. Paul really doesn't think it's that bad, yet, compared to some of the illustrations he's seen of darkened crystalline blood jutting out of skin. His joints only look deeply bruised, the crystals that grind under his skin still small enough to let his fingers mostly bend the way they're supposed to. It hurts, but pain is - pain just is. It exists. That he has to bite down on something to muffle a scream when he first moves his hands after waking up is trivia.]
If you want the crystals, I can save some of them for you. They're supposed to be valuable for magic. I haven't had any crest yet, but maybe the smaller ones are worth something too.
[If Palamedes goes looking for an iota of evidence Paul is kidding, he isn't going to find any. After all, isn't that what they're here for? The exploration of magical and scientific curiosity.]
no subject
He does still have the decency to look ashamed of himself as he looks away. Maybe he'd feel differently if he had ghosts, if he could strip the flesh from his dead family and send their bones walking around a dead house. Perhaps dying here is more trivial, the loss less acute or not present at all, just a transition to another state of being. What does he know about it? Nothing, and how dare he assume otherwise.]
A test. [Paul takes in his surroundings, and in the midst of everything else, he finds time to think that necromancers have over-committed to an aesthetic style at the expense of good taste or health. But Palamedes seems less wretched out here, so again: what does he know?] I'd like that. I'm trying to get as much practice as I can before this is over.
[And yes. His hand. Paul fights the childish urge to act like he doesn't know what Palamedes is talking about:] It's not too bad. I'm taking care of it.
[But still: he raises his right hand and offers it to Palamedes, not quite looking at him or it. Paul really doesn't think it's that bad, yet, compared to some of the illustrations he's seen of darkened crystalline blood jutting out of skin. His joints only look deeply bruised, the crystals that grind under his skin still small enough to let his fingers mostly bend the way they're supposed to. It hurts, but pain is - pain just is. It exists. That he has to bite down on something to muffle a scream when he first moves his hands after waking up is trivia.]
If you want the crystals, I can save some of them for you. They're supposed to be valuable for magic. I haven't had any crest yet, but maybe the smaller ones are worth something too.
[If Palamedes goes looking for an iota of evidence Paul is kidding, he isn't going to find any. After all, isn't that what they're here for? The exploration of magical and scientific curiosity.]