She returns the firm handshake, relaxing a little at the solid clasp. Something about the way he shakes hands seems just as earnest as his demeanor: nothing overwrought and fancy nor leery of contact. Just a good, solid greeting.
"Oh," Cam says, blinking at the implications there, and winces just a little in sympathy. And honestly, slight horror. She can't remember all the things she's thought or the situation she's been in, but she's been in the bar for a good half hour, at least, and she has a general sense that it wouldn't be a good scene if it all came tumbling out at once. "Yes....I value honesty, but I think there's an art to timing."
She tips her head when he leads with This might sound a little weird, lifting an eyebrow. Cam's about to shake her head, ready to let Jaune down that she doesn't know anyone and she wouldn't know if she did, but -- as he starts describing the man, her eyes go a little wide.
There are a million people this could be: tall, glasses, dark hair, her mind points out, pragmatically. He says really grey eyes, though, that almost disbelieving or not-describing-it-enough tone to it that somehow, somewhere, she's heard before in the description of her necromancer, and her chest clenches.
Palamedes. It crosses her lips without sound. And without thinking, her mind tries to fit it backwards into a thousand feelings, and it's like a migraine hitting her all at once; she stumbles a little bit, pressing a hand to her eye. It comes away with a bright red smear of blood across her palm. Her gut twists, terrified, and yet there's a little part of her that wants to laugh, thinks, I'm not the one who cries blood, and she can't chase that either, can't try to make sense of it.
"I'm sorry," she says, absurdly, off balance, and catches at his arm, looking up at him even as the last vestiges of blood blink out of her vision. "Yes." Camilla nods urgently, and dabs at her eye half-apologetically with her cocktail napkin. "Yes, he's -- my -- " Everything? How to explain the Warden in a way that makes sense? She doesn't even remember all of it. But also --
no subject
"Oh," Cam says, blinking at the implications there, and winces just a little in sympathy. And honestly, slight horror. She can't remember all the things she's thought or the situation she's been in, but she's been in the bar for a good half hour, at least, and she has a general sense that it wouldn't be a good scene if it all came tumbling out at once. "Yes....I value honesty, but I think there's an art to timing."
She tips her head when he leads with This might sound a little weird, lifting an eyebrow. Cam's about to shake her head, ready to let Jaune down that she doesn't know anyone and she wouldn't know if she did, but -- as he starts describing the man, her eyes go a little wide.
There are a million people this could be: tall, glasses, dark hair, her mind points out, pragmatically. He says really grey eyes, though, that almost disbelieving or not-describing-it-enough tone to it that somehow, somewhere, she's heard before in the description of her necromancer, and her chest clenches.
Palamedes. It crosses her lips without sound. And without thinking, her mind tries to fit it backwards into a thousand feelings, and it's like a migraine hitting her all at once; she stumbles a little bit, pressing a hand to her eye. It comes away with a bright red smear of blood across her palm. Her gut twists, terrified, and yet there's a little part of her that wants to laugh, thinks, I'm not the one who cries blood, and she can't chase that either, can't try to make sense of it.
"I'm sorry," she says, absurdly, off balance, and catches at his arm, looking up at him even as the last vestiges of blood blink out of her vision. "Yes." Camilla nods urgently, and dabs at her eye half-apologetically with her cocktail napkin. "Yes, he's -- my -- " Everything? How to explain the Warden in a way that makes sense? She doesn't even remember all of it. But also --
"You know him?"