[It's a little more grey and a little more miserable, as Palamedes leans against this ledge beside this bowl and simply looks at it for a long several moments. He doesn't touch it; his hand rests just to the side of it, a hair's breadth away, and if the low murmur of his voice carries through the rain and over to Paul — so be it. He has two primary topics of interest here, in this memory that is not real but for now may as well be: an apology, and an update.
He keeps the apology brief; a solid half of the update is about Camilla. Neither one lifts his grief and carries it away from him, not really, but rather the opposite—almost. Like the heavy blanket of grief that has settled over him, the tendrils of it that have wrapped around every part of him inside have moved deeper into a private part of the heart; not gone, but not so all-encompassing. It's been a terribly long eight months.
When he wanders back to Paul and stoops to tap him on the shoulder, his outer robe is gone to reveal more grey underneath; the robe draped over the bowl some yards back, to stop the rain getting in.
He's tired. This was done to hurt him. He can't stop turning the two over at the back of his mind, he's so tired, they wanted to reach into his chest and close a fist around his heart, he's never been more exhausted or resentful than this — hmm.
Well, that's spite. Now he has that to keep around, too. For later, just in case.]
Hi.
[Buddy. Chum. Palamedes sighs and takes a seat on the ground himself, looking around for a magic deer. Not yet; maybe the powers that be need to analyze precisely how red-ringed his eyes have gotten, here in the metaphysical realm.]
Oh; you were focused. [aha. hey. cool cool cool.] Sorry. Is that from your secret training? Honest question.
no subject
He keeps the apology brief; a solid half of the update is about Camilla. Neither one lifts his grief and carries it away from him, not really, but rather the opposite—almost. Like the heavy blanket of grief that has settled over him, the tendrils of it that have wrapped around every part of him inside have moved deeper into a private part of the heart; not gone, but not so all-encompassing. It's been a terribly long eight months.
When he wanders back to Paul and stoops to tap him on the shoulder, his outer robe is gone to reveal more grey underneath; the robe draped over the bowl some yards back, to stop the rain getting in.
He's tired. This was done to hurt him. He can't stop turning the two over at the back of his mind, he's so tired, they wanted to reach into his chest and close a fist around his heart, he's never been more exhausted or resentful than this — hmm.
Well, that's spite. Now he has that to keep around, too. For later, just in case.]
Hi.
[Buddy. Chum. Palamedes sighs and takes a seat on the ground himself, looking around for a magic deer. Not yet; maybe the powers that be need to analyze precisely how red-ringed his eyes have gotten, here in the metaphysical realm.]
Oh; you were focused. [aha. hey. cool cool cool.] Sorry. Is that from your secret training? Honest question.