megatheorem: (032)
palamedes THEE sextus ([personal profile] megatheorem) wrote in [community profile] deercountry2022-04-04 12:05 am

catchall for homies

Who: Palamedes and Friends (and Other)
What: the necromantic urge to come back from the dead
When: April (various)
Where: various

Content Warnings: death talk and necromancy inevitable, all else tba

it's a catchall baby, see prompts
butnotyet: (014)

[personal profile] butnotyet 2022-04-19 08:04 pm (UTC)(link)
"Hmmm, yes, well," answers the Saint of Patience, who... maybe he was trying to make a point of testing how much of it Palamedes has...? Results data would have been more meaningful if that had been clearer, of course, so who knows; maybe not. Patience is assembling all the various bits and pieces of Fresh Tea only now, directly in front of Palamedes, who could — presumably, assuming the Sixth is still maintaining minimum-acceptable-bounds of instilled paranoia in their lesson plans — therefore test the nature of the substances in front of him, as manipulated by the black-hole-Lyctor who is every bit as much an awkwardly-folded-grasshopper as Palamedes himself, hunched up over the table.

(Same height, after all, give or take a smidge, or pair of shoes.)

The tea things, as it happens, are completely benign; it's the person who sets the brewing cup in front of Palamedes who is the terminal danger — so isn't it nice that, instead of death, he's bringing fresh tea, et cetera et cetera?

He settles back with his own mug and a thoughtful expression, fidgeting with a biscuit blatantly stolen from God's Own Supply, and asks:

"Is there a reason she can't hear them from me, if they're my questions, and meant for her? Why install yourself as the intermediary?"
butnotyet: (011)

[personal profile] butnotyet 2022-04-26 03:01 pm (UTC)(link)
"Oh, Lord no, I'd never be quite that crass," the Lyctor responds promptly. "Quite aside from the microbiological implications, I prefer to avoid learning if the people with whom I converse have that particular taste."

Classy as hell, huh?

"No, I simply prefer to handle my business directly, I'm afraid — which doesn't mean I'm uninterested in you." Inasmuch as he's interested in anyone who hasn't made Lyctor grade, anyway. "You wouldn't happen to be one of the ones who ended up at Canaan House, then, would you?"

It wasn't as if Harrowhark had ever been particularly forthcoming about her life at the Ninth House, but — well, he was fairly certain he would have heard, at some point in the last fifty years or so, if the Ninth had started being chummy with the other Houses again. Wouldn't he have?

He hasn't really had time to inspect that relationship here, yet, to come up with any other conclusions, anyway.
butnotyet: (002)

[personal profile] butnotyet 2022-05-04 03:31 pm (UTC)(link)
"Oh, Lord, it's not as if I have any idea what they've done," is a promptly dismissive take on where Palamedes' poor bones have gone. (And other — squishier — bits, for that matter, assuming those were also collected in a nice bucket-in-a-coffin for the Sixth House to mourn.) "I just heard that our darling, wicked little Seventh went and got herself killed off in exchange for a couple of babies — not what any of us were expecting — well." He holds up a hand, pronates it, then wobbles it back and forth in a so-so gesture. "Not what I was expecting, anyway, especially not so quickly. Couldn't help but wonder if that wasn't what tipped off the other Number Seven to hurry up its schedule, but — well, no need for you to worry about that old lag, now, is there?"

Altogether too cheerful, for someone dropping tiny little context-free hints about just How Weird Shit Gets on the other side of the universe, huh.

Palamedes does get a more speculative look landed on him, though, as the Saint of Patience reaches out to bob his teabag in its cup — glancing down at it only very briefly indeed, apparently deciding it is Not Done — then settles back in his seat once more.

"Are you always a piteously terrible gossip mill? Or do you only mean that in this particular case?"
butnotyet: (001)

[personal profile] butnotyet 2022-05-06 11:30 pm (UTC)(link)
Is the Saint of Patience aware of the meaning behind the look on Palamedes' face that doubtless occurs — the look of someone in this committee meeting is in love with the sound of their own voice, and is making sure to utilize their time on the floor filling the air with as many related sound waves as possible, and I am only paying enough attention to be able to notice if someone directs a question at me personally and in the meantime only my expression is Politely Interested — during a good half of his commentary?

Eh... maybe, but it's not like he has a reason to care either way.

"You preliminary greeting, before you realized who I was, seemed to indicate that you've been here before — been and gone again, for that matter, especially given your additional notation about Harrowhark."

(Spoilers: the Saint of Patience may also, in fact, actually be in love with the sound of his own voice — that, or it's the actual act of Pedantic Lecturing.)

"How long were you here, before?"
butnotyet: (001)

[personal profile] butnotyet 2022-05-18 05:53 pm (UTC)(link)
"Three months allows for quite a lot of observation," says the Lyctor, in a tone that is ... maybe, judged generously ... meant to be ... complimentary? Cajoling? Buttering-up, with better-quality butter than the canned stuff comprising Ianthe's hair? "Especially from the Heir to Cassy's House — I'm sure you've taken all sorts of interesting notes about just about everyone you've met, and everything you've seen."

He shrugs a single hand, which is a fascinating trick all by itself, and twists his mouth up into one of those frown-shaped rueful smiles.

"Not that I particularly expect you'd want to share the notes themselves with me, of course — instinctive guarding against plagiarism, I shouldn't wonder; she was always the same way."

Because, of course, there is not a single other reason under this or any other sun that Palamedes would hesitate to share everything he knows with a saintly stranger (according to self-introduction and clothing choices and generally being-a-black-hole to necromantic senses)...
butnotyet: (009)

[personal profile] butnotyet 2022-05-20 05:52 pm (UTC)(link)
The Lyctor does not appear to be particularly surprised, nor even particularly displeased, at this dismissal; but Palamedes would be forgiven by anyone, surely, if he missed the brief sharpening of Patience's gaze on him, at the confession that God has attempted to persuade Palamedes of something — and, apparently, did not do a tremendously good job of it.

(That sharpened look is somehow shark-like: dead-eyed, hungry — and here, look, a scrap of flesh to consider, to track down.)

By the time Palamedes is actually looking at him, giving him his barest-modicum-of-politesse in the form of a nod, the Saint just looks dryly amused.

"Oh, please," he scoffs lightly, and picks up his teacup again. "You haven't had your tea — it's actually tolerably decent, surprise surprise — and anyone would think you couldn't recognize that that was just the blatant flattery, to butter you up a bit. I don't know you, Master Warden," or even your name, but heir to the Sixth does come with some logical titular assumptions, at least, "and I have no idea what you want, but that doesn't mean I don't expect you to be, in fact, real good at taking notes. Which will not, logically, be identical to the Emperor's notes."

(Which he's going to have to have some Words with John about — or, more likely, just go help himself to reading, and talk about later.)

"You've asked any number of tangential questions, but you have not, as yet, asked me any questions for me to provide you with illuminating answers, whether or not you're going to turn them into manuscripts; I don't even know if you can doodle, much less illustrate." As an example, gestured vaguely with the teacup, perhaps meant to urge that Palamedes in fact consider drinking that nice fresh of left-on-read tea that was made for him, right in front of him, in an acknowledgment that he has zero reason to trust that a Lyctor isn't going to poison him.

He makes a point of not asking where Palamedes lives, what house he wishes to get in order, when it so obviously isn't spoken of as a House — whether or not this is going to be registered as a diplomatic point.

"Aren't you from academia? I should think you would be quite well practiced at working with people you dislike. I certainly can."
butnotyet: (013)

[personal profile] butnotyet 2022-05-22 06:57 pm (UTC)(link)
"I'm sure it will be utterly delightful for me to discuss with him, at some point," possibly never, says the Saint, as bland background noise for Palamedes's bag-rooting.

When the Master Warden looks at him again, there is a particularly inhuman quality to him; something static, perhaps, the sort of 'unmoving' that includes 'unchanging' but also includes a hint of television snow — the uneasy sense of someone who has only lived through ten thousand years (and more than that besides) by not really living through them, just — counting them off — holding them at arm's length, waiting for them to pass him by.

Approximately five and a half seconds pass, between question and answer:

"Cytherea Loveday, known for the Miracle at Rhodes," he says, distantly, as if reciting something he barely remembers, or possibly as if he's remembering it so thoroughly that his voice is echoing through a ten-thousand-year-long tunnel; is there any real difference, at this point?

And then his gaze sharpens, ash-grey vs lambent-grey, and he asks (quite thoughtfully), "What was yours?"
butnotyet: (009)

[personal profile] butnotyet 2022-05-26 04:54 pm (UTC)(link)
There's a lot he could say, here.

Like, Ah, good, a much less cloyingly insipid name; well done, her.

Like, It's a very pretty name.

Like just repeating it — but he knows the look of a man who absolutely does not want a specific name to be in his mouth; he doesn't say it.

Only: "I'm sure," because he isn't God to offer the eternally obnoxious 'not if I see you first' — and then picks up the rejected tea, and takes a sip, letting Palamedes leave without further objection.