deercountry | 03 . boat log!

boat antics

[For someone who a) has never been on a boat that's actually moving on the water, and b) can't swim, Palamedes is taking this voyage in stride. He's among the people on this ship who don't think the undead crew or the bones everywhere are strange in the slightest (although there's something to be said for taste, and he casts more than one judgmental look at the "just hang bones all over!!!" décor style), spending the bulk of his time glued to the side of a one Camilla Hect, to whom he frequently leans into and mutters... something. Possibly also judgmental? Possibly jokes? It's hard to tell; they sure aren't.

When he is not gossiping overtly, he can be found on the deck where he looks kind of surly, honestly; it's damp on boats, who knew! He's closely guarding his Sleeper welcome satchel, which is thick and square enough to be very obviously full of journals to write in, because he needs this many. It's so hard to keep his stuff dry and salt-free, he just might gesture someone over to stand in front of him.]

—Stand there for - I don't know, thirty minutes? You're not busy, are you? Thanks.

[cool shit palamedes

Alternatively, still on the deck, he may be found drumming his fingers on the rail, squinting out at the sea like it owes him something. There's so much Squid Nonsense to learn out here, but first one must contend with the fact that one has never been out to sea before and apparently seasickness is a thing.

He has not totally vommed. He might look, hm, a little green, but he's studying his sea tolerance at the moment, so. Big plans. This time when he waves someone over, all he says is:]

Can you keep time for me?

crabs (derogatory)

[So, here goes everyone out onto land, without their Captain actual-literal-God, which Palamedes immediately cannot stop thinking about. Tiny crabs are fun, whatever, he'll gladly wander into a cave or two, but!

Well, isn't that weird! He'd like to talk about how it's weird!

But fine, it's crab time, and give Palamedes this one blessing: he's so skinny that most of him by volume right now is cloak and robe, so it's only after a number of crabs have attached onto the hem of his cloak and clack into each other when he turns that he notices them at all. Oh — look at them all back there, huh—]

I'm — not going to be able to get these off.

[necromancer vs the crabs, please help]

wildcard

[howdy, if you want to do something during the return journey, this is also gucci! pal will be bodily dragged below deck so he doesn't fuckin drown, xoxo thanks cam. or wildcard whatever else!

also prose if you want, whichever]

[ Gideon is, frankly, impressed with the fact that Palamedes has managed to stay upright for more or less the entire voyage, something that neither she nor Harrowhark were able to pull off during their first time on God's boat. The fact that this is her second time on God's point is honestly a bit of a bummer; Gideon had vowed never to show up here again. But Harrow is "first mate," apparently, so here she is! ]

Yeah, sure. Believe it or not, I can count past ten.

[ She reads those magazines for the articles, of course. She leans next to him on the railing, peering over her shades to get a feel for how green Palamedes actually is. Hm. That's nothing to sneeze at, so: ] But, like, why though? You look kinda rough, I don't think keeping time is gonna help.

[They are all on this boat for various Reasons, for sure; Palamedes is not, himself, here because he thinks God is particularly admirable, but God is a Guy with Resources and the willingness to let the Sixth stomp around on his boat.

Well, Cam might be stomping. She may have stomped off to get Palamedes a bucket, because his own methods of enjoying this voyage are, hm, stupid. He manages to give Gideon a crooked grin with only a little queasy wincing at the edges.]

Nav, I never doubted your skills for a minute.

[She is a woman of many talents, certainly, least of all timekeeping. Palamedes holds up a finger, correcting:]

Keeping time will help me concentrate. I am — immeasurably nauseous, and would have an easier time evaluating my holdout ability were someone else handling the measurable time. Therefore — you!

[ Why anyone would want to evaluate their holdout ability is thoroughly beyond Gideon, a person who strongly believes that if you gotta hurl, it's best to get it over with quickly. ]

O-kay. [ Said in the tones of: this is very stupid, especially for someone who is supposed to be very smart. ] You want me to count in my head or out loud? [ what's worse: not knowing how long you've lasted, or Gideon going one-skelebone, two-skelebone, out loud? ] Also, you don't need to try for too long. I'm pretty sure Harrow puked immediately upon boarding this thing the first time, so.

[ Now that's a betrayal of Gideon's vows. Admitting that Sextus has surpassed Harrow in some respect of their one-sided rivalry? The horror. It's also completely unsubstantiated; Harrow boarded the ship well before Gideon ever did. Gideon's just guessing, on account of the fact that Harrow is about ninety pounds and does not enjoy dramatic experiences, such as the flavor of biscuits. ]

[Oh, Gideon. He's flattered that she thinks he's so super smart (he is, thank you gurl), but he shoots her a less queasy split-second grin as if to say that she has not seen him even remotely at his wildest.

Which, in this case, is his dumbest. It happens.]

Immediately? Does she know you're telling people about that?

[He's ultra motivated now. Thank you, Harrow, for getting seasick before his time.]

I figure, bonus, if I get sick enough, our glorious Emperor will leave me to my own devices. That's only a sub plan, like, we're talking Plan F. But you know how it goes.

Nah. [ Gideon returns the grin, although hers is blessedly less tinged with nausea. ] I'm telling you just to give her a hard time. [ that's Gideon's job! In the fine print to one flesh, one end is be a huge pain in the ass.

At our glorious Emperor, Gideon wrinkles her nose. Glorious, sure, but he's also a huge asshole. She's glad Palamedes is coming up with ways to stay away from him, at least. ]

He's not hassling you too much, is he? He refused to leave Harrow alone, back on that fuck-off space station. [ and that wasn't good for Harrow at all. ]

I'll be sure to needle her about it later, when I'm all out of things to throw up.

[You know, to be polite. He gives Gideon a sideways look in silence for a moment, wondering — mostly, if he should ask why she and Harrow live in his damn house, if that is any of his business (it isn't). But God had said Harrow humors him, whatever that means, so.

Hmm.]

You know, he asked me to come out here and look at squids, and yet I don't think he's a fan. That's fine; the feeling's mutual, but still — if I weren't a necromancer I doubt he'd know I exist.

[And it's not as if Palamedes is torn up about this; no, even the tone he delivers such a statement in is a succinct observation: this is not a loving God. Whatever, though: as long as he's not bothered, that's fine.]

[ Gideon does not respond to that sideways look, instead opting to stare at something in the ocean very far away. Oh, look, a wave. How interesting. She grips the railing a little tighter at he asked me to come out here, relaxes at I doubt he'd know I exist. Gideon doesn't worry about Palamedes in the same way she worries about Harrow, but still, it's nice to hear that Palamedes isn't quite so...involved, let's say. ]

Good. [ which is a weird response to "God and I are not friends," so: ] You're better off keeping it that way. You know he tried to kill Harrow because he was worried about her? Best you can hope for is that he ignores you.

[ Thankfully, there's enough commotion between the sea and the other people on the boat that there's a good chance her voice won't carry far. Gideon probably should have told Palamedes this before he set sail on actual God's actual boat, but she figures late is better than never. ]

[Palamedes is quiet for a moment, leaning a little further over the railing, like maybe it is now time to Yartz Everywhere — no, he doesn't. But it gives him a moment to center his thoughts and carefully measure his expression, which is only the regular amounts of queasy when he speaks again:]

Did he?

[Wow.

Somebody should probably sit Harrow down and talk to her about her choices in humoring people.]

I mean, you know what he expected us to do at Canaan House. In the end; not the disaster it became instead.

Yeah, but he was being a real baby about it. [ especially for a guy who's ten thousand years old. ] He just sent another Lyctor to do his dirty work.

[ That was the worst part. Like, obviously, the murder attempts were bad on their own, but lying about it? It's a shame he's not back in the river with Ianthe, because those two really are a matched set. ]

I guess that's why he did it. He called it fixing her, which, ew, bad, gross. [ Gideon makes a face. Eugh! ] Besides. The degree to which we are or aren't a Lyctor is mine and Harrow's problem, not his. [ And that's definitely a problem, but recounting Harrow's brain surgery and Gideon's complicated feelings about it is just going to make him more seasick, so. Time to avoid that, for a bit. ]

Fucked-up morals aside, you and Cam made the right call in not getting involved with any of those weirdos.

[man, of course the crabs were gonna be out here in force. anna is at least covered most of the way with her gloved hand, longcoat, and by not having a lot of flesh to eat, but this guy is clearly not so lucky. she pulls the katana from its case on her back and slices her hand, then uses the blood to ignite her blade like a torch.]

First time with these things? [she's talking like it's an everyday, normal thing, even though it's only her second time with the crabs herself. guided by the light and heat, she holds her sword close enough to the little crusty bastards that it should, hopefully, scare them off. without lighting this guy on fire.]

Jeez, dude, how'd you let them form a nest back here?

[Oh, thank somebody out there that this motley crew is at least half capable women with swords, by Palamedes' estimation. He's holding his cloak up to let the crabs dangle, now trying to both keep an eye on them in case they skitter up towards his hands and to look at her flaming sword, because — cool.]

My — my mind was elsewhere. And in my defense, nobody warned me about them.

[He's never seen a crab before? Truly, the ocean is a dark and distant dream. Carefully, he swings the crab-hem a little closer to the sword, which frightens off a couple of the pinchy guys, at least. Progress.

Anyway, sword!!] When you do that to your sword, is it instinctual? Or is there a purposeful action element?

[this is. not the conversation she thought she'd be having, but only because, well. truthfully she's not totally sure how it works. she waves the makeshift torch closer, still conscious of how hot it's burning and how little she wants some charbroiled long pork right now.]

I mean, uh. I guess I think about what element I want to use and then it's there? [she falters just a little considering it.] I feel like... maybe the blood knows what I want because it's part of me? Or something. I'm no crypto-phlebotomist.

Actually, I think I have to tell it when I don't want it to be lightning. [which gets its own sort of consideration from her.] I think it's most comfortable being electricity.

[Luckily, Palamedes takes all faltering in stride; he doesn't even miss a beat, because who knows how blood magic works, anyway?

(Necromancers. Hence.)]

Neither am I! Not exclusively, or really all that much — I've taken classes. [He says, with a gesture with his hand still holding the cloak as if to say, Like anyone would take classes about blood.] An innate link having something to do with it sounds likely, although...

[He trails off with a slight shrug. The blood itself seems to know more than they do, then? That's a path to follow some other time when he is not covered in crabs. He shakes off another couple, with effort.

Now, hmm... ahem.] Lightning sounds interesting.

It's pretty cool, yeah. It cauterizes stuff a lot better than fire, so I don't end up covered in blood that's not my own.

[the sword touches the backs of a small line of crabs as she very, very carefully maneuvers it against the extremely flammable everything else, and the ones that don't scurry away seem to die on the metaphorical vine. it's progress and she'll take it.]

You study blood? [he does kind of look like a nerd (complimentary).] Let me guess, though. Definitely not normal classes about regular blood stuff. No offense, but nobody on this little voyage is normal.

I bet it does... [said with the wandering imagination of someone who's immediately lost in the Implications and the Applications of cauterizing that works much faster than fire. So, like, a nerd, for sure. He does something wiggly with his eyebrows and says huh!, obviously very distracted by cauterizing thoughts, and then resumes gently shaking his cloak.

Getting there. Some of these crabs are, hm, stupid? And trying to scuttle back up in a different spot. Incredible. Someone should do a study.]

I'm a necromancer; blood study is part of the package, yeah. I got full marks. [nerd; he hasn't been in a class in years but he's still compelled to get an ego about it when his other half isn't around to tell him no, oops-] Blood, bones, spirits... None of which are my specialty, but I dabble in the arts.

[A beat. Well, she brough it up first, sooo-] What do you do that's so abnormal, then?

Oh sweet, okay. Necromancer. That explains all your bone-loving buddies from the crew. [it honestly sounds like a useful skill to have around here. sure, people resurrect from the dead normally, but what if you could resurrect them faster or different? obviously it's worth putting into practice.]

[and then, of course, he has to ask what makes her abnormal, and she's gonna withhold some of the information, but most of it is hard to hide anyway. she rolls up the sleeve of her ungloved hand to reveal jet black metallic plating and robotic joints.]

I'm an android. I'm told that's not normal, but who knows anymore, right? For all I know that's just what my brain's telling me I am and we're all just squids in jars shooting synapses at each other.

Did— hmm. [Did no one tell her this beforehand? About the presence of so many necromancers, that is, not Palamedes himself specifically. There's a large criticism of Literal Actual God in there to be made, not this competent lady with a sword (tm), but he clamps down on that reflex and expends it with a little shrug instead.

Yes. Bone-loving buddies. Those ones.

...He does not, in fact, know what an android is, because an empire built on playing with the dead has no particularly strong designs on anything like AI, so. Hmm. He looks? He sees, and so he can guess, but huh.]

I would know if I were a squid in a jar, [he says, squinting overtly at her revealed plating. Fascinating...] Even if I couldn't do anything about it, I'd know. So — congratulations, we're not that.

You mean we're not in jars, right? [she gives him a knowing little smirk and covers herself back up.] 'Cause our gracious captain here is pretty convinced that we're all squids, and I've rescued enough squeople [which of course stands for—well, he probably knows] from the beach to believe him by now.

Only one who'll really know anything is Mariana, though. And I just hope we've got enough of whatever we need—bone magic or machine blood or whatever to get an answer from her. Otherwise this could go south.

Right; we're not in jars. The idea that this is all an extensive, I don't know, imaginary town is — stupid.

[No offense to any imaginary towns or dreams or whatever, but Palamedes cannot possibly fathom being fooled on this level. If they were squids in jars, he's convinced he would be able to tell. He has a storied past being aware of being in what amounts to a jar, so.

Anyway, point is, not jars.]

I think our [.....] captain can handle enough bone magic all by himself. What do you suppose he's doing back on the ship while we're out here? I haven't touched an ounce of necromancy since we left, which is entirely counter to what he alleged I'd be doing out here.

[What the fuck! Is he up to! Pal is this close to boat heisting.]

palamedes sextus | ota

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