prismatica | text; username: ambivalenceblack

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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.]

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[Caim's long forgotten what it was like to be particular over food. When he really reflects on it, Furiae's always been the one who was finicky. In fact, she's... many things that he's not certain he would have taken notice of before. While perhaps a bit spoiled and even a brat at one point in time, she was always so full of life. So full of smiles. In simpler days and times. Becoming the Goddess of the Seal admittedly drained her of all of that and the image there so stifling that sometimes Caim has forgotten she wasn't always like that. If she had been allowed to be a free woman, as she deserved, perhaps she would have been something akin to the way Angela is now.

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.]

( It's all right if so, she won't be offended. Angela's the sort of person who will eat anything put in front of her but if given a choice, opts for the more decadent in life, holding higher standards. She's used to traveling the world and partaking of local dishes, rural or otherwise, and you don't complain for nourishment. Her hard line is drawn at "bugs", and even that hasn't always been respected. She could go hungry for a day or two or subsist off stale protein bars if she had to instead, really. Being in a place like this meant she didn't have to worry, and there's no reason for her smile to dim.

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.

[It's a sliver of contact that Caim finds both foreign and familiar. He hasn't always been so hardened, so jaded, so cynical, so resigned. Her gentle demeanour, welcoming and warm, reminds him of such. As if it's a reflection of himself that he can almost reach out and touch. And proverbially, he makes the attempt. But hesitation wins and so too, does logic. He's spent too long being the way he is. There is no going back to the man he once was. Even if he tried to, he wouldn't be able to. He's been too affected by what he's seen and experienced. If Caim has ever hoped to even remotely reintegrate himself with society, it's not possible. Whether he hopes it or not, remains a question unanswered.

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~~.]

( And who says he has to go back? Surely he can continue evolving into the person he wants to be, taking aspects and feelings to weave in as he goes. It's all forward motion, day by day. If he could change from how he had been into who he is now, he can continue to change into whoever he wants. If that means being able to smile again and finding the comfort to soften and relax in the quiet moments between, all the better for his heart.

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. )

[It's a conversation he simply has no idea how to parse. It's one thing to have others speak of his prowess with a sword. That's inevitably easier for him to accept, too. Most people... never talk about anything else. Caim has never really cared what others said either. Maybe once upon a time? Even then, seemed like the only opinions that ever mattered to him were familial connections in nature.

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.

( Consider it good practice, then. Angela's never short on praise, even in passing, and she is always sincere. If he's looking for thorns he's going to have to dig much, much deeper and touch on some troubling topics and fling around quite a lot of insults and second-guessing for her work. She doesn't sprout them easily.

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.

[She invites him to take the last piece of garlic bread and after a moment's consideration, he takes it. As he busies himself with it, he listens intently as she continues. He supposes she has a point. Even he is not terribly different. He must do what he must and that does, on occasion, involve some kind of interaction with other people, even when he doesn't want it to be. But it doesn't really mean the same thing as needing others. If anything, people are sometimes little more than a means to an end. Wisely, he doesn't voice that.

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."

( He'll find her smiling when he obliges her offer; she's easy to please and enjoys sharing, so it really isn't hard at all to keep her content as far as decent relationships go with others. You've already made yourself a friend in her, Caim. Congratulations. (Now there's no escape!!) It may be a little different for everyone in the end, but her point remains and it seems to have gotten across.

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. )

[Right, the clinic. He's sure she's made mention of it before. He supposes a clinic is a bit like the infirmary which... is a bit like... churches and temples. Or whatever is most similar to such a thing in Midgard. Any religious order that has nothing to do with the Watchers, anyway. How different life must be to have some kind of stable routine. He has yet to develop one, though his adventure to the training area was a fruitful one. He imagines he'll be spending a good deal of time there because it's easier to swing his sword, even a sub-par one than it is to converse with people.

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."

( Yes, that trail of logic tracks decently enough, and his lack of asking for clarification seems to convey he understands. But as far as social charm, isn't he all right the way he is? She's sure she wouldn't mind something as mild as holding his hand or embracing him if he needed it, and they've only just met. It's never so easy, though, is it? To accept things like that when you've gone so long without. Her hand turns over on the table with loosely curled fingers, about to reach for her coffee, but their plates are brought in just as he's remarking on how he wouldn't have anticipated her lack of knowledge in the kitchen and her shoulders are shaking with a quiet laugh.

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?

[As Angela provides an explanation that Caim isn't sure why he even asked about, he eyes his plate. It looks a little more like something that he might have had in Caerleon. Maybe with a little more frill as seemed to be customary back then. Not that he's ever known how... normal people live. Inuart for all of his... Well. Lowered status, still wasn't exactly normal. Or common. If he had been, he doubted Furiae would have been betrothed to him. More questions that he'll never see answers to.

He raises an eyebrow and scarcely offers her a glance. The truth is, he's trying to be inconspicuous about it. Maybe if she hadn't fixed his hair for him, he'd be a little more successful. As such, he just looks like he can't awkwardly keep eye contact, which probably isn't entirely off the mark either.

She makes mention of military and suddenly his interest is a slight bit more peaked because it's something he's rather well acquainted with. But when she says she's eaten them, there's an implication there that Caim can't help pursuing. But he'll at least have the courtesy of answering her first.]

"If one wants to consider an open fire cooking. When fire could be afforded." [Sometimes it was safer not to be lighting fires and drawing attention. Caim has probably eaten his fair share of raw food, as barbaric as that may be. Or gone without food when necessary. He's never truthfully considered the necessity of food in terms of his pact with Angelus. Undoubtedly he could probably endure more things than most could considering the nature of their bond.]

"Are you a cleric for your militia?"

[Because there is no way that this docile woman is possibly a combatant. There's not a bone in Caim that is even ready to believe that.]

( He doesn't much respond to what she explains, but she can tell he's listening. The little quirk of his brow as the plates are set before them is visible from where she'd brushed his hair from his eyes so she can read him a little better, without an ability to impart tone on what he "speaks" through his device. His word choice is succinct, proper. He's intelligent. Schooled.

However he presents himself, she doesn't much mind. He's giving her opportunities to continue conversation and share a bit about herself and the technologies she knows, and it has his interest well enough. That's plenty, in her opinion. But mentioning the military catches his attention quite obviously. )

Mm, that was why those rations I mentioned were developed— to keep soldiers from making any fires and revealing their positions. ( As he knew, of course. ) They were artificially heated and very filling, so they kept one going on something small and easy to carry. Did you hunt, or were you more of a "stew" person?

And I suppose you could say that, yes. I lent my skills to whoever needed them. I was never attached to any particular country's forces. I was with a group of other doctors and volunteers who sort of... cleaned up after battles, and saw to poorer parts of the world. But I was trained with various militaries, yes. In wielding weapons and tactical decisions, and defensive combat. Nothing I'd ever choose to employ, most times, but it has helped me protect others. Patients, both injured or innocent, and keep our supplies from being stolen.

( She'll show him, some time. The power of CQC and aikido, to redirect and disable instead of outright harm. And, as if she hadn't said something he'll interpret as incredibly strange, she takes that first bite of pasta with clear delight in the way she closes her eyes, savoring the flavor as she chews. Very tasty. )

[He really has no idea what she means when she mentions 'stew person.' Truth be told, it seemed like there were more important things at hand than food. And again, the whole pact with Angelus... Caim's rediscovering his humanity all over again without the dragon near his person, but... It's not just an emotional kind of discovery now, either. He's not sure which he might have preferred—physical or emotional. Both seem like cracking vulnerabilities to him.

Dark eyebrows knit together as he considers how to better answer her.]

"I ate whatever there was. I did not often travel with my men. I suspect they were more the sorts for rations." [A luxury the prince couldn't afford, evidently. No. He supposed his interest was more in trying to keep Arioch from attempting to eat him.]

[He's still contemplating all of it as she continues and humours him, which he seems to like. Easier to get people talking about themselves than him divulging information about the world he's come from or the kind of person he is. The more she says, however, the more he's looking at her... Well. He knows he's been underestimating people, but this is ridiculous. What's a woman doing in such a situation? How could she have ever found herself there? Why didn't she lose herself in more... appropriate things suiting her? He's trying to picture delicate Furiae in her position, doing those same various feats that Angela's accomplished and he just... can't.

Of course, if Furiae ever heard him call her delicate, he didn't doubt that she'd throw a tantrum.]

"You appear to be serious." [While perhaps not allergic to humour, Caim doesn't sense that she'd joke about something like this. He shakes his head.] "Those are no such proper pastimes for a woman."

[Archaic times strike again. Caim is going to end up getting beaten up by ladies if he keeps that up.]

( Look, she's a "stew person"; give her water, vegetables, and spices, and she'd be perfectly content. It was just another aspect she might have connected with him on and to make conversation over their meal, so it isn't terribly important in the end. She'll eat while he types up his reply, synthetic voice conveying his answer to her as he dug back in. )

That's a shame. I hope you weren't alone, then...? I don't know if I could stand it for more than a day or two.

( She's a people person through and through, and she doesn't... like being alone. She much prefers being surrounded in life and the sounds of it; people's breathing, their footsteps, their shifting in a nearby cot or sleeping bag. It all set her at ease. But he seems to be enjoying listening to her, attention rapt even as she watches his confusion break through the soil and grow, and her amusement mirrors it in turn. )

No, I don't suppose they seem like it to some. But yes, I am serious; what would proper pastimes for a woman be, where you're from?

( She doesn't seem annoyed in the least with such a statement, and his answer will give her better clarity to the sort of times he's come from. )

[He prefers the solitude, honestly. Well, kind of. Sort of. It's complicated. Most things are and as much as he wants to be black and white about it all, it might not reflect what he genuinely desires. He suspects he might be a very different man if he had only ever had Furiae and Inuart without everything else. Leonard, Arioch, Seere, Verdelet. They were all kind of a means to an end. He didn't exactly stop them from coming along and to some degree, he supposes they might all be considered friends. If not friends, then cohorts. They had suffered in similar ways and misery loves company, or something like it.

He indulges in his pasta for many moments. Possibly too many before he decides to issue Angela an answer.]

"I had companions." [That's what she wants to hear, he assumes, and it's the truth. And that's about all he seems willing to say on the matter at this point in time. ~~Stay tuned for a future Caim patch update.~~

For some reason, which he can only chalk up to curiosity, which is a frightful, dangerous kind of thing, she presses him. What pastimes do women have? Gods, as if he would know. Whatever his sister did when she wasn't watching him train is an educated guess. He assumes embroidery, her own teachings, if Inuart hadn't been in the picture, courting rituals. All the things little ladies of court do. Plus spending time with Shirley, which probably meant talking about men at court. He doesn't know. He never really asked and never really expressed an interest in much of anything like that aside from her safety. Furiae's safety had always been paramount.

A shame he's failed there, too. Caim looks reflective for some moments, subconscious toying with the bracelet adorning his left wrist. The one link he has to his heritage, his sister, their family, and the life he's long since left behind.]

"I am not a woman, so I hardly know. Were my sister here, you could ask her yourself. Our obligations were different."

( No, never too many. Not when he's ruminating on an answer and having to go through the trouble of typing it out on his device after, being read aloud after a few moments' pause. She's patient. That isn't ever going to change. The fact is that he does answer her and that's all that matters to her in the end.

Enjoy your pasta, dingus. She'll be glad for it, too. )

That's good, then. I'm very glad to hear as much. I can hope you'll find some here, as well. With your communication coming a bit easier now.

( She twirls her pasta speared on her fork in the sauce as he thinks on it, biting each gnocchi in half and dipping back into the sauce before the next, taking her time so he doesn't feel rushed. She can find a good tempo to follow. His reply does make her smile, though, and she shakes her head. )

Fair enough; what were your obligations, then? The time and place that I'm from, we don't quite differentiate roles or tasks by gender. The only exception being ones that require an excess of strength that most women can't build up naturally. But now many of those are carried out by machines instead of men.

[He's almost thankful when she gives her own words. Gives him an opportunity to indulge in his own food. Eating is easier than speaking. Not that he actually speaks, of course. And the truth is, it's entirely feasible to eat with one hand and to use his device with the other. Maybe he's just looking for an excuse to not have to carry on his half of the conversation. In spite of his attempts to avoid making much of that, he hasn't been wildly successful. Present moment being a prime example of that.

He waves somewhat dismissively at the thought of companionship. He doesn't need it (aside from survival). Doesn't really want it. Things are so much easier when the only person he needs to be concerned about is himself, mostly because he has no concerns about himself. He knows himself. It's everyone else he has to look out for, especially people like Angela who are undeniably kind. That's either foolishness or she's dangerous. Quite possibly both.

"...what were your obligations, then?"

Caim cocks an eyebrow and takes a break from his eating to think about how to word a response.]

"Knowledge of country history. Strategy. Tactical knowledge. Leadership grooming. Representation, I suppose."

[All true. Not that Furiae wasn't held to some of the same standards, but... In a different way. It's different to be a princess than it is to be a prince. Or so Caim assumes. In many ways, he suspects he had a much easier time than she did.]

"I have observed that many people here come from differing worlds and traditions. It is certainly something to get accustomed to."

( Well, she doesn't want to completely block him from eating if he's busy trying to type his responses to her, so she doesn't mind being a touch fairer in their conversation. And he's clearly interested in whatever it is she says, even if it's just to suss her out and find out what sort of person he's sharing a meal with. She's certainly interested in return, however, and in finding out where his idea of the world has come from. Nothing insidious, and she certainly isn't offended by anything he's said, either— it just earns him her wry amusement and sparks curiosity in her.

He waves a hand at the entire topic of companionship and it leaves her leaning on her elbow, head tipped as she considers him. His reply makes her think... )

Some form of politics, then? Perhaps an older form of nobility, as I know it...? So women were primarily figureheads and held more domestic responsibilities, I assume. Rearing children, tending to livestock, minding homes, textile work? No standardized schooling yet...?

You're right, though; I've rather enjoyed getting to know others from such different walks of life. It's quite interesting to me. I'm sorry if I'm asking too many questions. You should finish eating while it's still hot.

( She can leave him alone, honest!! )

[Caim has to take a moment to imagine what his sister would be like tending to a cow of all things. And it is... Well. It's amusing. He starts to smile, as awkward as it is because Caim has no idea how to smile properly and not like he's some type of mad man and dips his head to eye his device before he makes use of it again.]

"Not like livestock. The other things sounds more anticipated." [Again, as a woman he can't entirely say. Furiae never really spoke about such things and he never asked. It wasn't his business and she never really gave off the impression that she was upset or unhappy. Or perhaps he never noticed. Caim can't claim he's ever been the best brother. At best, he's probably been more than a little self-interested and not always willing or capable of seeing the bigger picture, as it were.] "Furiae and I had our own private schooling. Our lessons different, I assume, at a point."

[Her reassurance regains his gaze and for several moments, he simply eyes her as he does precisely as she's suggested. And it doesn't take him long to polish off his pasta. It's probably one of the best dishes he's had since he's been here. But then, Caim doesn't seem particularly finicky over what he eats. He turns his fork over, prongs down, when he's done, purely an instinctive habit it seems and hardly even notices he's still doing that. And he's probably been doing it for years.]

"You are not the first to ask me questions. You will not be the last. You are, however, the first to seem so eager for answers. Knowledge, while a noble pursuit, is also a dangerous one." [...And it's almost like a threat. He isn't outwardly meaning to do anything to her, but he knows how he is and he knows what kinds of things come his way. Angela will only ever be at risk the closer she gets to him. Caim recognises that and this isn't Midgard. He can't be complacent about it here.]

( The flash of teeth and slight curve to his lips is enough to tell her it's a smile, half-feral though it may become were it any wider, but she tries not to stare regardless. Sue her; she likes raising spirits. He seems like someone that could use it. But she nods to his correction and listens, making quick enough work of more of her plate. She could take her time if she weren't on a schedule, but she's using most of her allotted "lunch" to chat with him. Her bites are dainty but frequent. )

Mm, I think I understand. Still, what are we without knowledge? Monkeys in clothes, if a bit taller. I suppose it could be dangerous to a degree, but I would much rather have asked and know than to not.

( If it's a threat, then she's half-oblivious. She gets the warning in the words even without the device's ability to add an edge to its tone, but she doesn't seem to heed it. Which he'll come to find is rather typical of her. It's only a couple bites more and she's finished, as well, going to sip at her water as she passes her wrist over the reader at the other end of the table and takes a moment to dial in a tip for the waitstaff, fabric napkin pristine in her lap as she draws it up and looks over the table. She piles their dishes together and wipes the table down of any crumbs or a stray sauce spot or two, then adds the napkin to the top and leaves the pile by the edge, easy to collect. )

You're free to ask questions of your own, you know. Walk me back to the clinic?

Edited 2020-01-27 09:40 (UTC)

["Still, what are without knowledge? Monkeys in clothes, if a bit taller." The comment is so odd, so off the mark, that Caim's expression is... Well. Likely transparent. While it's true he would consider humanity to be little more than beasts (some feral, and others not quite so much), 'monkey' is not exactly how he'd put it. When she says it like that, it's almost endearing and foolish humanity, even at its best, is nothing close to endearing.

Her words stay with him even as he watches her neatly stack up their eatery. They had people to do that for them in Caerleon. Is that not the workload of those who are employed in the restaurants? He hasn't even said it yet, but a waiter and an attendant is hardly different. Except one of those things get paid. (Although he supposes servants had their own annual pensions or whatever kingdom finances decreed appropriate for the help.) Regardless, that she's remarkably kind, and not just to him, is a strange thing to observe. She's helpful, irritatingly selfless, and seems as if she never has a moment where a part of her isn't smiling.

Caim feels, once more, that Angela at best, must be perceived as a threat. Something is simply not adding up here.

At her invitation, or her request, whichever it might be, considering he has no way of deciphering truth from fiction when it comes to the woman in question, his eyebrows knit together, evidently perplexed.]

"You seem capable enough. I doubt very much that you need an escort."

[But he isn't exactly saying no. He just doesn't think she's in need of the assistance and quite likely has some other reason for acquiring his extended companionship.]

( She sees that complete lack of comprehension to the reference on his face and her smile turns a touch apologetic, but she doesn't offer to elaborate if he isn't going to ask, and he doesn't. And perhaps it is the job of the employees here, but she doesn't see why she couldn't take the extra few moments to make their life easier, instead of climbing into the booth to reach everything or making extra trips, instead of just collecting one simple pile and being on their way.

It was a courtesy that extends to time for other guests, and other employees, and made the world a little kinder in its outward effect. A little more patience afforded to someone else down the line.

But to assume there are times she isn't smiling is a touch false. He may realize that one day, spending enough time around her. She does allow it to falter sometimes, outright fall from her lips in trusted company when she's upset, but... He'll figure it out eventually. Gauge her a little better. He's already essentially turning down her invitation as she moves to stand, and she just offers a little shrug. )

I was thinking more along the lines of you knowing where to find me if you needed the additional help with the device; and, it would be a chance to speak a little more. But if you've somewhere to be, I won't keep you. It was nice meeting you, Caim.

[Angela's kindness and sense of helpful demeanour is somewhat lost on the man. As a prince, he never had to clean up after himself. Didn't even have to fix himself up nice and proper. (He dressed himself, bathed himself, did all of that, however...) It simply seems to be this line between how different people can absolutely be. Caim's not certain he's noticed it before, or perhaps it simply hasn't seemed as prominent as it is in the current moment. For several moments, he simply watches her stack everything, an expression of bewilderment taking him.

Yet her words bring him back to the reality of the situation. So it's not an escort mission. She simply wants to offer additional help. A part of him recognises that the assistance may be needed. Pride speaks up afterwards and tells him it is best not to get too attached. Or give her the wrong idea. Such as one where he might need the help, because there's just no way to easily admit to that. Another time, perhaps. Not this time.

She's done more than enough and he will have to ponder on that some.]

"I imagine we will find our paths crossing before you know it. Even should we not want them to. I will visit your clinic another time, Lady Angela."

[He doesn't have the courtesy to tell her to be well. A part of him thinks it, but the words won't leave him. It just wouldn't sound like him at all.]

( It's a bit sweet, really, to watch him watching her pile things, trying to figure out the hows and whys. Some of the other waitstaff having to climb into booths and bend over to reach items far back on the tables from the walkway is hint enough, most like, but it still baffles him. It's probably going to become her new hobby, that.

No, it isn't an escort mission. Just a further invitation for company and the chance to know where to find her, but he already knows how to use the devices to a certain degree. He'll be able to look her up easily enough, or reach out if need be. This meeting and the information exchanged would just have to be plenty. She'll lead the way out of the restaurant and pause beyond the scope of the doors, smiling to the sound of "his voice" and how he chooses to phrase their parting. )

I imagine we will, you're right. I'll look forward to the next time we meet, then, and for now I'll simply say to take care of yourself.

( It's said with a gentle touch of her fingertips to her arm before it draws back and she gives a little flutter of the fingers in a wave, turning to begin the walk back across the boardwalk and down toward her clinic. Maybe she can surprise him next time with an upgrade for that text to speech feature. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

text; username: ambivalenceblack

Yes, of course! My UN is @ofthesky, but it should be on journal things, too.

yassss excellent!! got u 💕 I'm a quiet addition aside from the monthly tag plurk, honest

Oh, speak up as much as you want. I don't mind in the slightest.

💗

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god a week later I'm sorry

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 👀💕