[ooc: i hate how meta writing omniscient narrator responses to narration can get but i had to let you know how much i CACKLED at "camilla is smarter than that". please continue thinking that jaune.]
He stays standing as she sits down, in a sort of chivalrous manner that makes her huff slightly at him and simultaneously a little amused. It makes her think he'd fit in -- in -- somewhere, she's not sure exactly, but wherever home is for her; a sense that there are certain places in the universe, some more than others, that expect and appreciate that sort of formality.
Camilla knows it's care, too, caution: she did after all start bleeding from the eyes, but she nods at the opposite bench pragmatically when she's seated and stable. If she can't resist clawing at her mind for more answers after this, that lack of discipline isn't something he can do anything about.
She takes a breath. It's not a bad idea, better than testing things he knows about Palamedes one at a time to see if they hurt her. But she can feel her ears and neck warm a little at the prospect, and decides promptly if she's much of a blusher at home, she's going to conveniently forget all about that, because she hates it immediately. "It's -- difficult," she says slowly. "Most of what I know isn't something you could put into a list, or a form..."
She takes a sip of water that's shown up, somehow, without her noticing anyone bring it or leave. It's cold and smooth and almost miraculous on her throat after fighting her way through the desert. "We grew up together, in a place called the Library, which is in, or -- belongs to, the Sixth House." She's trying to extract information from memories, and it's a delicate process, but then again, she knows how to be delicate, doesn't she? That's a thing she remembers too.
Cam takes a breath and tries to let it come naturally, out of order, however it wants to. "He's got these ridiculous eyes," she says, and laughs because who cares, but it's part of why she knew Jaune was talking about the Warden. "And looks like someone stretched him out, and remembers everything he's ever seen, which is a pain."
Now she's relaxed, smiling, enough to try more serious things. "He's Master Warden of the Library, and I'm his cavalier; I'm called the Warden's Hand. He's the youngest Master Warden to earn the title ever." Camilla can't keep the pride out of her voice, even though she can barely comprehend what a Master Warden is, much less remember what it took for Palamedes to become one or exactly what he's done beyond vague moments that slip through her mind like spectres.
"I don't know if they have cavaliers here. I don't --" She does flush now, feeling the uneasy ground she's treading on memories split under her. She knows that they are necromancer and cavalier, remembers the oath, knows how it feels. But she knows she should be able to describe how they function, what necromancy consists of, the history of cavaliers in minute, distinct detail and she simply can't. It's as though an entire part of her mind is just gone. "Palamedes is a necromancer. He's my necromancer. Not everyone has the abilities that he has, but when they do, they're paired with a cavalier that, hopefully, balances them out. We swore an oath to be -- each other's."
She hadn't meant to say it quite that way, and she takes a sip of water. It's not untrue, even if she doesn't remember all of what led to it. She can feel in her chest, remember bits and pieces: they were each other's in some inextricable way far before being sworn Warden and Hand.
just some light reading o_O
He stays standing as she sits down, in a sort of chivalrous manner that makes her huff slightly at him and simultaneously a little amused. It makes her think he'd fit in -- in -- somewhere, she's not sure exactly, but wherever home is for her; a sense that there are certain places in the universe, some more than others, that expect and appreciate that sort of formality.
Camilla knows it's care, too, caution: she did after all start bleeding from the eyes, but she nods at the opposite bench pragmatically when she's seated and stable. If she can't resist clawing at her mind for more answers after this, that lack of discipline isn't something he can do anything about.
She takes a breath. It's not a bad idea, better than testing things he knows about Palamedes one at a time to see if they hurt her. But she can feel her ears and neck warm a little at the prospect, and decides promptly if she's much of a blusher at home, she's going to conveniently forget all about that, because she hates it immediately. "It's -- difficult," she says slowly. "Most of what I know isn't something you could put into a list, or a form..."
She takes a sip of water that's shown up, somehow, without her noticing anyone bring it or leave. It's cold and smooth and almost miraculous on her throat after fighting her way through the desert. "We grew up together, in a place called the Library, which is in, or -- belongs to, the Sixth House." She's trying to extract information from memories, and it's a delicate process, but then again, she knows how to be delicate, doesn't she? That's a thing she remembers too.
Cam takes a breath and tries to let it come naturally, out of order, however it wants to. "He's got these ridiculous eyes," she says, and laughs because who cares, but it's part of why she knew Jaune was talking about the Warden. "And looks like someone stretched him out, and remembers everything he's ever seen, which is a pain."
Now she's relaxed, smiling, enough to try more serious things. "He's Master Warden of the Library, and I'm his cavalier; I'm called the Warden's Hand. He's the youngest Master Warden to earn the title ever." Camilla can't keep the pride out of her voice, even though she can barely comprehend what a Master Warden is, much less remember what it took for Palamedes to become one or exactly what he's done beyond vague moments that slip through her mind like spectres.
"I don't know if they have cavaliers here. I don't --" She does flush now, feeling the uneasy ground she's treading on memories split under her. She knows that they are necromancer and cavalier, remembers the oath, knows how it feels.
But she knows she should be able to describe how they function, what necromancy consists of, the history of cavaliers in minute, distinct detail and she simply can't. It's as though an entire part of her mind is just gone. "Palamedes is a necromancer. He's my necromancer. Not everyone has the abilities that he has, but when they do, they're paired with a cavalier that, hopefully, balances them out. We swore an oath to be -- each other's."
She hadn't meant to say it quite that way, and she takes a sip of water. It's not untrue, even if she doesn't remember all of what led to it. She can feel in her chest, remember bits and pieces: they were each other's in some inextricable way far before being sworn Warden and Hand.