[No no, she's a gem and he will let his legs inevitably fall asleep for her, for sure. Palamedes hums and shakes his head - all good! - and fiddles with one of these frills. Gently, of course. Fascinating...]
Camilla would default to me, [he says, with a light shrug. There are some aspects of their necro-cav relationship that lean into what could be called tradition - that is, that the necromancer calls the shots in times of serious action - and it's more comfortable to fall back on those old habits even in a place removed from the Nine Houses entirely. In both scenarios it leaves Palamedes to decide what to do in all this; the difference is simply that were she here, he wouldn't have any trouble. She defaults to him — she also tells him when he's being an idiot and likely to get them both killed.
So that's fun. The situation.]
Momentum is what I've been running on, [he can concede that much. It's been working, and his handful of treasured people here stop him from drifting too far, more or less.
He waits until Viktor has settled on the couch and then leans his head back on the other seat, looking up at him with - for a moment - pure exhaustion. This is the thing he just decided not to talk about, and here's Viktor, asking him in such a way that he can't just lie to him. That it's this over the experience itself that bothers him is another one of those handy compartmentalizing tricks, but - Viktor would find out eventually, anyway. Even if the Sixth were not committed wholeheartedly to The Truth, all Viktor has to do is catch a witness giving Palamedes a haunted look behind his back, and the jig is up.
So, alright. He makes another face, looking up at the ceiling.]
You're fine— I'd have told you eventually. It's true, what they say about rebirth. What irks me is how long I was, you know, a squid again. I'm not sure about the average expectation when it comes to... time lapsed, let's call it, but I'm fairly certain mine was abnormally long. The dumb fucking ocean— [nope. no. he's fine, he's taking a breath,] —has a mind of its own.
[He traumatized at least one teenager by taking so long to wriggle out of the depths again! Truly, what the hell!]
It was dark. I wasn't aware of myself and then I was. There's no discernible trick to it, and I'm not eager to go through it again to figure one out.
no subject
Camilla would default to me, [he says, with a light shrug. There are some aspects of their necro-cav relationship that lean into what could be called tradition - that is, that the necromancer calls the shots in times of serious action - and it's more comfortable to fall back on those old habits even in a place removed from the Nine Houses entirely. In both scenarios it leaves Palamedes to decide what to do in all this; the difference is simply that were she here, he wouldn't have any trouble. She defaults to him — she also tells him when he's being an idiot and likely to get them both killed.
So that's fun. The situation.]
Momentum is what I've been running on, [he can concede that much. It's been working, and his handful of treasured people here stop him from drifting too far, more or less.
He waits until Viktor has settled on the couch and then leans his head back on the other seat, looking up at him with - for a moment - pure exhaustion. This is the thing he just decided not to talk about, and here's Viktor, asking him in such a way that he can't just lie to him. That it's this over the experience itself that bothers him is another one of those handy compartmentalizing tricks, but - Viktor would find out eventually, anyway. Even if the Sixth were not committed wholeheartedly to The Truth, all Viktor has to do is catch a witness giving Palamedes a haunted look behind his back, and the jig is up.
So, alright. He makes another face, looking up at the ceiling.]
You're fine— I'd have told you eventually. It's true, what they say about rebirth. What irks me is how long I was, you know, a squid again. I'm not sure about the average expectation when it comes to... time lapsed, let's call it, but I'm fairly certain mine was abnormally long. The dumb fucking ocean— [nope. no. he's fine, he's taking a breath,] —has a mind of its own.
[He traumatized at least one teenager by taking so long to wriggle out of the depths again! Truly, what the hell!]
It was dark. I wasn't aware of myself and then I was. There's no discernible trick to it, and I'm not eager to go through it again to figure one out.