Caim of Caerleon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
voiceofanimus) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
prismatica2019-09-15 07:27 pm
voiceofanimus) wrote in prismatica2019-09-15 07:27 pm
text; username: ambivalenceblack
[Caim has spent over a month contemplating exactly how to address the network or even if he should. Part of him thinks subtlety is the right pathway to take. Another part of him is convinced that he doesn't care. What does he have to hide, really? Who can really stop him?
The best thing about text is that no one can detect the uncertainty in his words or in how he phrases them. But maybe his texting is a little too perfect. In a world of shorthand and acronyms, written habits remain habits and do not die easily.]
This land is full of madness, I see. Its beasts prowling as the moons transform.
[It's a wonder the streets don't fill with blood during the cycles, considering he's of the opinion a Moonblessed beast is hardly any different from a feral one in the wild. He has yet to experience his own changes, though he doesn't feel a particular investment for or against that concept.]
I must know if there is a smithy in Lunatia.
[Obviously to defend himself against said 'beasties.' (Untrue.) He'll get a sword in one way or another. Even if he has to have someone custom make him one. Although it's probably wisest not to let Caim have a sword.]
The best thing about text is that no one can detect the uncertainty in his words or in how he phrases them. But maybe his texting is a little too perfect. In a world of shorthand and acronyms, written habits remain habits and do not die easily.]
This land is full of madness, I see. Its beasts prowling as the moons transform.
[It's a wonder the streets don't fill with blood during the cycles, considering he's of the opinion a Moonblessed beast is hardly any different from a feral one in the wild. He has yet to experience his own changes, though he doesn't feel a particular investment for or against that concept.]
I must know if there is a smithy in Lunatia.
[Obviously to defend himself against said 'beasties.' (Untrue.) He'll get a sword in one way or another. Even if he has to have someone custom make him one. Although it's probably wisest not to let Caim have a sword.]
no subject
Still, I'm glad you've survived what sounds like a truly trying place in the world. And that I've had the chance to make your acquaintance.
( If she knew it were for the sake of outright monsters it would be one thing, but violence in general is just another aspect of the world she's come to terms with and works to clean up after. It's better to say "if it isn't pointlessly cruel". If innocent people aren't drug into it, children, animals— she tolerates much and never seeks to scorn anyone. She's expected to give proper care to people who have done terrible things in the name of their people, their countries, their homes. It isn't her place to cast judgement.
Still, sparing her that on a first conversation will have been appreciated if she ever learns of it. It's easier for her to get to know a person without immediately weighing their "sins" with it.
And he hasn't been awful. Parroted things back occasionally, as if in a physical conversation where he says it back to memorize it, but it's been a good conversation and he seems to have kept up with her. She didn't want to pry when he'd made it sound quite awful out the gate, but she is curious about where he's come from. Why he paints it the way he does. )
I'll appreciate that, thank you.
What sort of food do you like to eat? I'll find a good place and let you know where it is next I hear from you.
( That's all right dear she can deal with awkward and then some. Even showing up and being unable to speak won't so much as trip her up for a second. She'll adapt. )
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It's as he's eying his device and recollecting her words. She did say to make mention if there was something she could do to help. She might not be able to help him directly, but she could point him in a direction. Who knows, maybe it'll be the same engineer in question.]
Before I answer you, I had a thought. Do our devices translate text into colloquial language? If not, is it possible to make mine do so?
[Might make it easier in the future for him. At this point, he always has to use text, which is a hassle for everyone involved. In person, it might be good to have a substitute for his own voice. No reading required.
Yet an agreement remains an agreement, no matter how informal.]
As for food, I have no preference. Everything here is a great many fold better than what greeted me where I came from. I am not a particular man.
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Maybe that oddball sense of camaraderie would be enough to start a connection. Who knows. But despite her initial demeanor of complacency, Angela is anything but pleased to be ripped away from her career and her time and place in her world. She's just better at maintaining her calm for the benefit of others.
When he has a question in return, however, she's pleasantly surprised. It is something she can help with. )
Do you have difficulties speaking, physically?
There is a screenreader you can turn on that will speak the text you type aloud, yes. And it can be customized for various tones and accents. I could tweak it a little if anything of them aren't quite right, but they sounded fairly natural to me when I was testing them for a blind friend.
I can walk you through the settings now or do it for you in person, if that would be easier for you.
It would be a good way to spend time over lunch. 😊
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I am mute. [Although capable of whatever this world's equivalent to pact partner telepathy might be. Zelda from previously showed him that well enough.]
[Her response has him immediately looking through his device, which is, for the most part, incredibly foreign to him. He knows limited things on it and just enough to make himself dangerous. He didn't even know its full capabilities. But to be fair, Angela's the first one he's asked.
Her offer is a compelling one. It would give him the opportunity to assess her in person. To see what she is truly like. The reverse rings true, as well.]
I could see that being mutually beneficial. I agree to your proposal.
shall we action jump or bump it to a log? I have a catchall I can write a thing for him on!
Maybe she'll be able to help further his ease with others with something as simple as setting up his device. Opening one's ability to communicate goes a long way. )
I see; then getting you set up with the device will be a bit of a boon, won't it?
I'm more than happy to help with that. It's a bit late today, but how about tomorrow around noon?
I'll send you the location of a nice little pasta restaurant close to my clinic.
( And there's the pin coming through right after, close to the water and not far off the main road down. Then she can head back to the clinic for a few hours and finish out her shift. Besides, she's curious to meet him. )
Just look for a blond ponytail as close to the water as I can get. 😊
I'll see you tomorrow, Caim.
I can do either or! Whatever is more convenient for you. 💕
After her invitation, he receives the locale details. Squinting, he notes that it's at the very least familiar to him. He won't have a difficult time finding his way there at all. He has yet to actually eat at the restaurant, however. He'll have to make sure he has enough Chroma to eat. In the past, he's been largely fortunate that Eren is willing to pay for him. He won't be that fortunate forever, or so says the uncomfortable stiffness in his arms. But that could just be from a lack of sleep, too, and the idea that the man simply doesn't know how to relax.]
On the morrow, then. I will meet you there.
[For a moment, he considers referring to her as 'Lady Angela,' but decides he's not quite ready for that yet. But maybe one day. In the future.]
here it is then! 💗 to action
There's no world in which she would lure him out without intending on helping, even if only partially. But this much she's confident in. No matter who he ends up being or how he comes off, he deserves the ability to communicate with more ease and nothing will stop her from granting him that much. He's right not to second-guess her on that much, at least. She's a doctor; she helps people.
Which is why he finds her sitting in the sunniest open window with a soft ocean breeze catching her fringe, espresso con panna in hand and an idle smile on her lips. There's a bit of garlic bread before her clearly meant as an appetizer while she waits, having arrived a few minutes early.
Her white lab coat's hung over the back of her chair to leave her in a belted sweaterdress and tall heeled boots, dressed simply and comfortably for the colder-turning weather. The coffee helps, of course. )
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Although his wardrobe has changed ever in slight since he's arrived, Caim is, for the most part, the same as he ever has been. He looks inconsequential and easily blends in, or so he assumes, with the rest of Lunatia's Moonblessed. Although admittedly, his hair has gotten shaggy. Not to the point of untamed animal, but he's headed well on the way. He doesn't even really think about his own appearance until he arrives on the scene and gets a look at Angela.
Blonde. As cheerful as her personality. Even the way she dresses screams... light. But Caim doesn't know the first thing about what's in fashion, so next to her he feels awkward in his tunic and vest fusion dance. In spite of being in a world most contemporary (in comparison to his own, anyway), he's still rather evidently caught up in his seemingly archaic habits.
His gaze moves onto the bread and he almost sits. Remembering himself, he reaches for his device and as he has so many times before, he's typing in a most meticulous fashion.]
I am Caim. We arranged to meet today.
[But maybe she's put that together already. Please let him sit and have some bread.]
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She doesn't mind what he's wearing or his general appearance; she's never pulled up short to judge someone from that alone. She waits patiently for him to finish his message and turn the device over for her to see and nods, offering him a hand (to shake, or, you know, however he greets others where he's from). )
Hello, Caim. It's very nice to meet you in person; thank you for coming. Please sit and help yourself. May I have your device?
( Get ya some bread, bro. She'll start to set him up in the meantime. )
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Likewise.
[It's the closest he can come to reciprocating the same. Gratitude is not one of Caim's strong suits and he won't claim otherwise. Just this right here is bending on him a bit. Inuart would probably be proud, though. He's not raving mad, flailing a sword around, after all.
He offers to her his device once he's done typing and soon after takes a chair opposite of her. She's still a sight to behold. Looks like an angel and everything. More what he thinks of when he thinks of gods and goddesses. But he would sound nearly insane if he spouted such nonsense.
Thank goodness he's mute, so he can't make stupid conversation due to how awkward he is. He helps himself to the bread, but he's not a particularly picky eater. If it's not rotten or rotting or raw, it's probably phenomenal in comparison.]
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That and ignoring her hand, but it was offered so mildly and doesn't even begin to offend her, so she eases back down and leaves that hand out for his device, handed over after a reply. Her fingers are already navigating the menus sightlessly as she holds his gaze with a quirkier smile, something a bit lopsided with her amusement, almost as if she senses the words running through his mind. She can't, of course. But it'd be far from the first time anyone's called her such; she wouldn't think him crazy for it.
He gets a little shooing motion toward the bread to invite him to eat and she falls to working in a comfortable silence.
Well. For all of another thirty seconds, anyway. Then the one talking is his device, starting in an almost comical, posh baritone as it reads out "Where Fox and Hare say good night to one another." and she turns it around with a widening smile, showing him the slides. )
Here we are; I have it set to read the text in your basic word processor aloud, where you were writing your responses. This right here controls the pitch for speed, and these two control the tone, so you can alter the voice to sound the way you wish it to.
( She slides one over for less of a formally-accented manner of speech, younger, and then ups the tone from the deeper voice, just to show him. Here you go; she'll be the one to pick up a slice of garlic bread now while he finds what he's comfortable "sounding" like. )
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Angela's niceties, however, put him in a good starting direction. He doesn't know that this kind of technology is likely commonplace with many of the people in Lunatia, and as such doesn't know he probably could have gone to just about anyone. To him, Angela is special because of the knowledge she has. Useful, might be a better term for it. He's merely appreciative that she doesn't mind helping him when he's... Well. The kind of person that he is, whether she knows better or not.
Maybe she just sees something in him that he doesn't. A woman of intuition. There's been a shortage of clever women in his life, admittedly. He doesn't know what to make of that possibility.
When she's done, she offers over his device with her explanation and demonstration. He's... astounded, is the best way to put it and his expression is transparent enough. He sets down the piece of bread he was previously enamoured with and turns his attention onto what will bring him one step closer to a device.
...What a fascinating object.
He fiddles with the settings, going through his options, highs and lows, and picks something that sounds familiar to the voice he remembers once having. Or something like it. It's not a perfect match, but it's close enough that no one else will know the difference.]
"I see. Your assistance is... appreciated."
[He's just no good at thanking people, probably hasn't done that in years. But there's no denying that she's gone out of her way to help him.]
doubletake tab over to ruffle shirt
As it stands, she will gladly accept being considered useful in someone's eyes. Especially if she can actually help them. That's all that really matters to her in the end; helping others and giving them someone to turn to, when they're otherwise alone in this place. To hear she's special would simply be flattering. And even if he falls a touch short on social niceties, she's not found him unpleasant or difficult to converse with in the least. And she hasn't found him rude, either. There is nothing to doubt.
Angela does have a knack for finding the good in others; let her have a go with you, Caim. Perhaps she'll be able to show you something you may have thought lost along the way, only for it to have been buried deep.
That look on his face is more than reward for her time and "effort", little as it may have been. Her smile doesn't fade the entire time he fiddles with the sound of the voice, gentle though it may be and interrupted with the bites she takes, a quiet curl of the corners as fond as anything. The accent tips up, the tone rasps, and he ends up sounding a bit younger than her initial impression. Perhaps it's just been some time, or his impression of his voice skewed younger. She always thinks she does better at hiding the slight Germanic accent still left to her syllables until she sees some newscast or another recording her, and realizes she's erased as much as possible and just has to deal with the remainder.
The device speaks his thanks for him and she inclines her head graciously, smile spreading. )
Of course. Anything to make life a little easier for one another, here. I'm happy to have helped. Just don't let a newfound voice keep you from eating, hmm?
( And her tone curls up at the ends with her good humor, just a bit teasing. She doesn't mind sharing, and if he opts to order something whenever the waitress returns, well. Lunch is on her unless he argues with her. )
He's gonna go all ruffle all the time now. Makin' a fashion statement.
He's oblivious to her watching him. Or tries to be. The truth is, he can feel eyes on him. They don't necessarily have to be hers. He's almost certain that no matter where he goes, he's got unwanted attention. Usually from the Moonknights who are just waiting for him to slip up, so they have a reason to throw him in the cells for an undetermined amount of time. And as fun as that sounds, Caim understands he has to, for once, play by the rules that aren't set by him. It's kind of like having a bunch of Verdelets in his ear, reminding him of what his priorities need to be. The more things change, the more they stay the same, hmm?
When he's satisfied, he sets his device down, though leaves it on. He still needs it, after all. Although perhaps one day he won't need it at all. He wonders what kind of consequences would come from him ever seeing the return of his voice. Death, perhaps. Would he rather have [nigh] invincibility, or his voice at the price of his life? That's a hard question to answer now that he's not in the face of certain peril.]
"I take that to mean you would rather me to pay less attention to foreign machines and more to you." [It's not even an accusation. It's more like an observation in the only way Caim knows how to give one—straight and to the point. He's never been known exactly for subtlety. He gestures down to her bread, ignoring shaggy hair that falls into his face for some moments before he lifts a hand to sweep it back. Only, of course, for it to fall right back into place.]
"I do not intend to eat much of your food. Your kindness in assistance has been more than enough." [Already he feels indebted, which is a surprisingly human emotion for him to experience. It's not one he's comfortable feeling either. A shame he can't just turn that off.] "I suppose then, that simply leaves me with your company. Until you have need to away."
oh la la, prince caim~ also is it ok if I add you on plurk for future plot stuff?
It feels like the least she can do, without the faintest idea he's royalty. At least with her around, he's in no danger of rousing the Knights' attention; she's the mitigating sort and would more than gladly step in and deescalate whatever situation arose. For now, it's just two people helping one another out and sharing some garlic bread. Perhaps one day she'll be bored and clever enough to work on a neural transmitter for it, giving him thought-to-speech instead of having to type in the interim, but even that is a bit beyond her capabilities with the supplies she has available to her here. Not that that often stops her. She created kevlar materials to weave into straps for prosthetic braces for someone else already in her time here.
The remark she gets in reply just has her laughing softly, shaking her head with a smile. )
No, it means I want help finishing the food I've ordered so it doesn't go to waste. And because you looked like you were enjoying it. I like to share.
( Oh dear, you need a haircut, don't you... It's about that time for everyone here, she supposes, having been here some months at the least. Here, let her. She's reaching back up under her ponytail and producing a bobby pin to offer him. If he remains still, she'll reach over and pin about a third up near his ear just to free up an eye. She won't make you look silly with an outright side-sweep or anything. )
I never quite eat enough to clear a plate in restaurants, honest. I don't mind. ( As if on cue, as he's actually saying something quite sweet about her company, the waiter approaches to ask after— "Oh, will you require another menu, Miss Ziegler?" which she only waves away and picks hers up to offer Caim. )
The mushroom gnocchi, please? And whatever my friend would like. He won't be rid of me so easily.
( As if it's some sort of secret, even as she speaks it aloud with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes and a polite chuckle from the waiter. )
Yes, of course! My UN is @ofthesky, but it should be on journal things, too.
Not... that Caim views his blonde and bright companion as his sister. Just a note of what one could have been like had the circumstances been different.
Caim abruptly pauses when she reaches over to him. It's true—the way tension floods him. When people touch, it's usually with swords. He's spared no short amount of scars underneath apparel, each a reminder of exactly why Moonlacing is... Well. Caim certainly does like his personal space, even now. Although he can't deny that there's been some moments in which he hasn't absolutely loathed being in the physical proximity of another. He simply hasn't arrived at a point where that's convenient for him to admit. Whatever the case, he makes no move to stop her as she pins up some of his hair.
...He probably looks a laughingstock now. But maybe that too, is a sign. Does he even trust anyone to come near his hair, however? Probably not. For several moments, he simply eyes her, unsure of what he thinks or if he even thinks anything much profound at all. And then he ultimately decides that... She's not so bad. His attention turns onto the waiter for some moments, committing Angela's family name to memory. Or what he assumes is family name, as odd as it may sound. (Coming from a man who technically doesn't have one, he's in no place to judge, but that's never stopped him before.) He motions absentmindedly before finds it in him to speak up. Well, as much as one like him can.]
"I shall have the same."
[That's the easiest way to approach the subject, really. Maybe at some point he'll be a little more adventurous with his food. Maybe. Whatever he's about to lose himself in, Caim's attention turns immediately onto Angela as she continues. Friend, really? That's not exactly the first word people think of when they think of Caim and his surprise, no matter how he may try to conceal it, is palpable. And it seems even a hardened prince can still be something akin to bashful because it doesn't take him long to duck his head.
Come on now. Don't do that to him.]
yassss excellent!! got u 💕 I'm a quiet addition aside from the monthly tag plurk, honest
Any ease she may have earned with him in their time together so far comes to an abrupt end as she reaches over with the little gold pin, but he doesn't make to brush her off and his eyes follow the rounded ends of the pin until her nails are in his hair, brushing just that one bit aside and over his ear. There's a bit of a twist applied and she slips it in after, hiding the glint of metal and giving him some partial eyesight back with a little wink as she withdraws her hands. No harm done and not a single hair tugged at.
If he's worried about scars being off-putting, clearly no one's told him how attractive others find them. Angela happens to be one of them, fond of the twists of scar tissue that say I survived as much as she regrets their yelling a story to the world, not always able to be hidden. That wasn't fair, either. As if sensing the internal monologue: )
There. Still just as handsome, but with a bit more visibility, hmm?
( It shouldn't surprise her when the waiter comes and he has the other man's full attention; he barely even seems to glance at the menu. (Yes, Ziegler is her family name.) Her amusement only bubbles up again as he defaults to what she's having, and the waiter makes off with the menu without batting a lash at the voice coming from the device. Caim, however. Well. She's leveled with his full attention again to the term of endearment that seems to catch him off-guard. How else was she supposed to introduce him? 'This man who happened to sit at my table.' She isn't so rude as to give names away to strangers. So her head tips in silent question, blinking in the face of his surprise, and then he's ducking his head down.
Oh, did she embarrassed him?? Wipe that smile off your face, girl. She's reaching halfway across the table so her fingertips are just in his line of sight on the varnished wood, index finger lifting just for two little taps. Your attention, please. )
Well, can't we be? If we're having lunch together.
Oh, speak up as much as you want. I don't mind in the slightest.
Regardless, it's a momentarily nice feeling. That familiarity. Even for him, there is security in what he knows, or what he feels he knows. It's interesting that Angela can even offer that to him marginally. Not that he'll be saying as much. At least, not over this lunch.
Her compliment does not go unheeded. He utters a scoff, or something as close to it as he can manage considering his state. It's a huff of air and in those moments, he almost seems like any other. It's not the first time he's been called that. He doesn't really have an opinion on himself where that's concerned, however. It doesn't really matter to him. He can recollect some whispers about it back when Caerleon was still standing, but as much as he should have been, he wasn't looking at candidates for marriage and heirs either. Eventually they likely would have gotten there. Perhaps. If he ever overcame his awkwardness around people. A good leader for the field, but not exactly the man of inspiring speeches like his father.
He shakes his head, lifting a hand as if to wave off such compliments. Angela, you're laying it on thick. But what man doesn't like hearing he looks good? Even he's not immune to it and it's a smile as awkward at him that threatens to pull at his mouth.]
"Stop that. It is odd."
[But he still likes it in the end.
She continues, earnest and forward, something he both appreciates and has no idea what to do with. He doesn't know how to respond. There are some options, of course—I don't know how to be a friend. Versus Any friend of mine will likely be greeted by death. Versus I'm not interested. None of them are particularly inaccurate either. Save maybe the last one. He doesn't remember ever picking Inuart to be his friend. It was more like they had been drawn together by circumstance and the man simply wouldn't go away. And eventually, Caim found comfort in his presence. Maybe that's friendship in some way.
Maybe Angela's company isn't so different. Or has the potential, anyway, to be similar.]
"That kindness of yours will get you killed with the wrong person. I am not the sort of man you should call friend."
[He shakes his head at her. She's sweet, but foolish. The only thing he's friends with is death
because he's Edgy McEdgerson.]💗
It always takes time to learn that you don't have to let past experiences become a mold you have to fill.
Still, he lets her that close. She's not the type to take advantage of it or overstep what increments she's given. And when her compliment gets that scoff of breath from him, her nose crinkles in her amusement as she reaches for another piece of garlic bread and gets waved off. She saw that hint of a smile, mister. )
It isn't odd; you're good-looking. It's just stating a fact. ( And isn't it fine, put like that? She takes another bite and watches the way he seems to absorb her words, considering them and the little softening edges of his expression before he's writing out a reply or another and steeling himself anew. Just like it's fine to let new people into your life, sometimes. Give them a chance to prove what they can offer. ) I've lasted 37 years so far, and I'm very difficult to keep down. That's a risk I'm willing to take not to give up my kindness.
Besides. People aren't meant to be alone.
( Call her fooliSH TO HER FACE!! I mean, don't, even if she'd laugh. )
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Angela's rather good at keeping him ever suspicious and wary. He can't help wondering what she's hiding under those seemingly flower petals and softness. Where are the thorns that belong to the goddess?
His head tips as she continues and he files away what information he can, trying to keep his expression even. He's unfortunately curious about her, however, and the more he sees, the more curious he becomes. It's not that she's wildly different than some of the others he's met. She's not, really. It's almost astounding how many kind people he's had the pleasure of meeting. They're all fascinating to him in one way or another.
Cocking an eyebrow, he doesn't look convinced. Not by the thirty-seven years she implies (though he's convinced she can't possibly be that old), but rather by the concept of people being alone.]
I am not inclined to agree, my lady. There are some who are better off in their solitude. It would be unrealistic to make the same expectation of everyone.
no subject
It's clear she has his attention and his curiosity with the way he watches her, though, reaching for one of the last pieces of garlic bread and using the end to nudge the last his way. That raised brow to her reply gets an easy laugh from her all the same. "My lady", is it. He doesn't seem to believe a word she says. )
Some prefer it, it's true, but society is what it is because we have the ability to band together and have for thousands of years. That isn't a nature easily changed. I wouldn't call it an expectation to hold anyone to so much as an inevitable understanding that even the most solitary in nature will eventually need to come back into town— for food, or clothing, or an injury that needs tending, or materials for building... Tools. Weapons. Anything. We can't all possibly have every skill needed to get by in life alone.
My only expectation in others is to be understanding when that time comes. Just as I had the ability to help you today and that will go forward. And please just call me Angela, if I'm only going to call you "Caim". Unless you'd prefer something else.
no subject
He pauses. He can't think of very many people he's addressed by name. He almost prefers not to, as if it might possibly bring him closer to someone else. It's much easier to remain detached by simply never calling someone so closely. If he can treat Angela the way he treats every other woman he's met, it's convenient for him. Maybe that's escapism. He's sure he could lose himself in those thoughts. So perhaps it's best that he simply glosses over all of it and simply pretend she never said it.]
"Caim is fine."
[Possibly better than 'Lord Caim.' Maybe.]
"Do you come to this place often. This restaurant, I mean."
no subject
It's all right to let others fill in the blanks and shortcomings one may have. It's just as fine to let it be called "needing someone". Sometimes what you need of someone's skillset is important. Like his request for a sword that had led them on this path, and his further arrangement to allow her to fix his device so that he may "speak". But he's free to voice what he wishes, now that he's able. She might make a face or furrow her brow, but she'll not be so easily deterred. She's likely heard worse things and outright insults from others in her care, through their low points.
Gloss over it while you can, buddy. The second they run into each other and he tries to call her anything else, she'll be correcting him in good nature, wagging a finger. Nah-ah-ah, just "Angela". )
Wonderful; we're in agreement, then. And I do; about once or twice a week. It's close to the clinic that I own a bit further down the boardwalk here. I try to stick to places close by so I can be back at the clinic within a few minutes. Sometimes emergencies happen. I don't cook very well on my own so I don't always have something prepared to bring in with me.
( It's a bit of a sheepish admission, but one with her usual amusement. She doesn't seem to think it wrong she can't cook, nor does she find it terribly embarrassing. It's something worth poking a bit of fun at though. Her usual go-to in an "I promise I'm no angel" routine. She's far from perfect. )
no subject
The fact remains, however, that he'll have to practise some kind of social charm. He's heard what happens to those when low Chroma levels and his are... Well. They aren't good for certain. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he wasn't so ridiculously hands off. Come to think of it, he can't ever think of a time in which he actually was particularly okay with being touched—Furiae and Inuart aside. Siblings and like relationships were a little bit different. Possibly a bit more complicated in their own ways.
As much as he wouldn't wish Lunatia on her, there's an undeniable part of him that wishes his sister was here, too. If only because he could keep her in his sight. If only because he'd know she was alive. But then he imagines he'd want her to stay. A world without Furiae is a hopeless one, for certain. Memories of her will not keep him warm.]
"You are capable of many things, but not of cooking."
[It's a pointed observation. He wouldn't designate cooking to a gender role because the kitchens of Caerleon just had... cooks. Men and women alike. Not that Caim can cook either. He never needed to. And making anything over a fire out in the middle of nowhere surrounded by the supernatural is not exactly what he thinks of when he thinks of cooking.]
"I would not have anticipated that. I suppose your other pastimes keep you preoccupied."
god a week later I'm sorry
The scent of the different mushrooms used is softened by the cream and she thanks the waiter with a gracious incline of the head and a smile still wide from his not-quite-teasing as he blankly remarked on her skillset. She's already twirling up a forkful of pasta and letting it sit midair as it cools. )
That's correct, unfortunately enough. I was always in an environment where it was provided for me or I had the funds to simply buy it elsewhere, like this restaurant. And I was always traveling, often without anything but a campfire to cook over. We had these meals from various militaries you could cook with just sun or a chemical packet to heat up water without a fire to warm the food inside; it was quite tasty after years of improvements made, haha. It'd come in a little box smaller than this plate and it gave you plenty of energy to keep going.
But you're right, I've always kept busy with my work, otherwise. I'm not too picky. I just eat whatever is given to me if I don't have much choice.
( Yeah girl, sell those MREs and pocket rations and life on the road. Dummy. You have delicious pasta right in front of u, stop talkin about cardboard. )
And what about you? Did you ever cook?
PLEASE TAKE YOUR TIME. lol
I REFUSE!!! I declare, (almost) another week later
DON'T WORRY ABOUT ITTTTTTT.
I'M GONNA WORRY EXTRA JUST TO BE CONTRARY
STOP BEING DIFFICULT.
nO!!!
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wrapped just in time to tag dragon!caim 👀💕