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: (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.