[Ha, but surely that wouldn't happen. Surely not. Palamedes stands, mindful of the flimsy and the errant stacks of book so he doesn't topple any. He moves, stopping at the door to give the room one last sweeping gaze; that's it, then. Time to go.]
Now we have to go outside, I'm afraid. And I'm sorry in advance, because I mostly remember this place when it was raining.
[Nothing for it, anyway. He'll make the trip down and out to one of the miserable grey terraces as quick as he can, for Paul's sake. It is raining, if only a little; an equally grey and miserable patter to herald their arrival to a steel chimney and some sad-looking, long-abandoned planters, and Palamedes' abrupt stop, once they're within the chimney's sights.
He hadn't come out here when the incinerator had burned, it had been later that they'd all rifled through — there, an out of place bowl sitting on a low ledge, filled with more grey and more misery.]
It's mixing contexts, [he says idly, glancing at Paul, acutely aware of the memory rain dripping persistently into the bowl.] I thought it might bring things out here if I focused hard enough. Remind me to write it down, later.
[Brightly, and then after taking a few steps toward the bowl and the furnace, he spins back around in a grey (and miserable) whirl. He doesn't need to ask Paul to give him space; Paul is demonstrably not the kind of person who needs to be told something like that in circumstances of this magnitude, but - just for clarity's sake.
Just to control one thing properly in this memory of memories, before he talks to a bowl for ten minutes.]
Okay! Can you give me a minute? Or a few? This is...
[He gestures somewhat helplessly at the mismatched scene laid out behind him. Ah, this is his heartbreak? Well. A significant bowl of ashes can be only so many things, and since Paul has a point about learning things on Palamedes' own terms, then:]
She was important to me. I'll be right back.
[A beat, then he spins back around to continue on to the chimney. He'll be swift; there isn't much to say that he didn't already write down.]
uhh i guess cw: vague allusions to cremation
[Ha, but surely that wouldn't happen. Surely not. Palamedes stands, mindful of the flimsy and the errant stacks of book so he doesn't topple any. He moves, stopping at the door to give the room one last sweeping gaze; that's it, then. Time to go.]
Now we have to go outside, I'm afraid. And I'm sorry in advance, because I mostly remember this place when it was raining.
[Nothing for it, anyway. He'll make the trip down and out to one of the miserable grey terraces as quick as he can, for Paul's sake. It is raining, if only a little; an equally grey and miserable patter to herald their arrival to a steel chimney and some sad-looking, long-abandoned planters, and Palamedes' abrupt stop, once they're within the chimney's sights.
He hadn't come out here when the incinerator had burned, it had been later that they'd all rifled through — there, an out of place bowl sitting on a low ledge, filled with more grey and more misery.]
It's mixing contexts, [he says idly, glancing at Paul, acutely aware of the memory rain dripping persistently into the bowl.] I thought it might bring things out here if I focused hard enough. Remind me to write it down, later.
[Brightly, and then after taking a few steps toward the bowl and the furnace, he spins back around in a grey (and miserable) whirl. He doesn't need to ask Paul to give him space; Paul is demonstrably not the kind of person who needs to be told something like that in circumstances of this magnitude, but - just for clarity's sake.
Just to control one thing properly in this memory of memories, before he talks to a bowl for ten minutes.]
Okay! Can you give me a minute? Or a few? This is...
[He gestures somewhat helplessly at the mismatched scene laid out behind him. Ah, this is his heartbreak? Well. A significant bowl of ashes can be only so many things, and since Paul has a point about learning things on Palamedes' own terms, then:]
She was important to me. I'll be right back.
[A beat, then he spins back around to continue on to the chimney. He'll be swift; there isn't much to say that he didn't already write down.]