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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( Well, he certainly hasn't been unpleasant with her, at least so far. And even if he tries to be, he'll find she's quite hard to cross and harder still to offend. If patience is a virtue then she really is a saint.

Angela very likely hasn't seen the sorts of horrors that Caim has, when she's from a far more modern war and the other half was largely robots when she had been a child— then the smaller scufflings of militias and border patrols and crime circles later on. But injuries were injuries. Because of her, what would likely have been fatal in his time was easily handled. She dealt with victims of explosives, gunshot wounds, POWs and the torture endured, chemical and biological warfare in whatever small doses slipped by intensely strict regulations. Her optimism comes from the survivability of near-everything she's laid a hand on; very rarely does Angela ever lose a life under her care. Whether or not she can convey as much, well: )

That's right; I'm a trauma surgeon, more specifically.
I deal with severe and life-threatening injuries where speed and precision is of the utmost importance to stop bleeding and close up injuries against infection, while ensuring they will heal properly in case things like prosthetics or further work is needed.
I wouldn't necessarily say that I've not seen much suffering, so much as I've been very lucky in being able to heal those I've cared for.
Being able to save others and improve their lives goes a long way in soothing what else I may witness, and it keeps my chin up.
We have to take the little victories, right?

[So in essence, Angela is precisely what Midgard has been in dire need of. He'll never say it—because he can't (but even if he could, he wouldn't)—but that's the truth of it. Verdelet was not a completely useless man, but everything she's said so far has been far more practical than any ranting or raving in his chants that the bald priest could offer. A shame he's meeting her so late. Perhaps she could have even been useful when Caerleon fell.

If wishes were dragons and so on and so forth, right?]

Little victories. I suppose if some were to be had, then yes. [Not that he would know anything about that. There weren't any victories in Midgard. In fact, the more he thinks about it, the more he realises it's all been him at a disadvantage. No matter how many steps he's tried to be ahead, he's always behind. He's been doomed to fail from the very start. He's fighting a war he can't win. One that he never will. So what then?] Your occupation sounds interesting, if not a burden.

( Well, that's the difference in hundreds of years of technology, isn't it? He's welcome to try to kidnap her if they ever find a way back home, though he'll have to fight some demons at the very least. )

There's always some to be had. Sometimes it's just difficult to let yourself see them.
And I would never consider my occupation a burden; it took many years of hard work to train for it, but it has been worth every moment, even the tough ones.
It's given me the ability to put a bit of good back into the world when there's been so much bad.
And what is it you do, Caim?
What is it like where you come from?

[She is too good a person. It hardly takes an extended conversation to reach that conclusion. She's not the first overly nice person he's met either. How is it that he keeps crossing paths with types like these?

Her line of questioning makes him freeze up. He's thankful he's not in her physical proximity. He doesn't know how to answer her and a part of him doesn't even want to. What is there to say? Maybe it's best to be as sparse with his information as possible.]

I am a soldier of a hopeless world.

[It sounds edgy and angst-ridden. The sad thing is that... it is all he says and likely more. A prince-turned-soldier who's in a war he cannot win. The gods have forsaken Midgard. And him.]

( He's far from the first person to make the observation, but as he says, thankfully she's far from the only good person around. But yes, it's good he isn't face to face with her. She's far sharper when she has eyes on someone, reading the tiniest shifts in their expression or body language.

And ok, that does sound rather edgy, but who is she to judge? )

I'm very sorry to hear that; I'm glad you have something of a break in your time here, then.
Our worlds should be waiting for us whenever we're able to return. Otherwise something as cosmic and overwhelming as the universe may just unravel.

( In case it's something he'd worry over; not that she's an expert, but she does have a time ghost on her team they had to stabilize. People aren't meant to exist outside their given place and time, after all. )

[She's... 'sorry.' Why? What for? She's not the one who has anything to do with Midgard and its never-ending plethora of things to be attended to. Human empathy, or any empathy of any kind, is seemingly lost on him. Or Caim very well may just not know how to handle someone being nice to him. That's not to say that Seere and Leonard never were. Just that it wasn't quite the same as the reception he's been met with. In fact, it's a surprising recollection that more people have welcomed him than they have otherwise.

The people in this world are all fools. And considering he has no idea how to respond to Angela, he decides it's wisest just not to.]

You say that as if you are not unfamiliar to this travelling of other worlds.

[...Is she a goddess?]

( Perhaps not, by any fault of her own, but she is indeed empathetic to another sort of fault— Angela is a doctor that strives to mitigate and lessen suffering in the world. She can't imagine how much he's lost for him to speak so plainly and with such melancholy phrasing.

Make no mistake, however, that it isn't anything near pity. She will always be kind. And anyone who may cross her path is always welcome to that, Caim, Soldier from the Hopeless World included. She doesn't expect an answer because she knows how difficult it can be to respond, having gone through conversations similar to this a near-infinite number of times in her years of service. Instead: )

I am unfamiliar with the travel, but not unfamiliar with the science of space and time, to a degree. It was not my specialty but I have assisted with a patient where I was required to learn some of the basics in order to contribute.

There are many names for the many theories of what can interfere with the flow of time, but whether it is removing a stair from existence that could cause the tumble of a queen who was meant to bear a child and continue a peaceful reign, or removing someone who later won a war, or someone who took a bullet and protected the scientist who cured an epidemic: any number of things could "ruin" what was meant to be or what may have saved many lives. Or lost them and lead to other advancements. Entire civilizations could disappear without the right catalyst in the right place.

It is like pulling on a snagged thread and unraveling an entire piece of clothing. It needs to be repaired with care or the simplest tug could see the whole garment ruined. Where we have been plucked out of our worlds, there is a void that only we can fill again.

[There is one thing for certain that can be said about Mercy and that is that she's not at all afraid to make conversation. Caim, not being particularly good at that, actually appreciates it. And truth be told, she sounds intriguing at the very least, where most people easily fall under his radar of interest. He assumes this is because of how complicated she makes things sound.

This talk of science and what appears to be fate. Caim doesn't know anything about science and doesn't really believe in fate. Or perhaps he does. He hasn't decided yet.]

Yes. I suppose you must be right about that. We cannot send others to fill our places from where we came.

[There really aren't many he'd be wishing his world on anyway. Maybe an enemy or two, but he hasn't actually made any in Lunatia. Yet. Give him time.]

I am not knowledgeable on science or what that may entail. Such things do not exist in my world. At least not yet. Judging by your explanation, however, it sounds complicated at best. I admit that I have had my fill of excessive complication.

( Truthfully, no one's ever accused Angela of being afraid of much of anything; conversation comes easily to her and she's used to filling quiet spaces with a gentle voice. She talks to her patients, conscious or no, often. She hums to her plants and while she's bustling about, and she knows the value of a comfortable silence, in person.

But to know she's caught the interest of a prince, however passing or technical it may be, is certainly flattering! He already seems like someone she'd rather like to meet. Color her curious. )

Every person in any world is very unique to themselves. No one should have the ability to replace another, just as I couldn't take your place and you couldn't take mine.

You're right that it is very complicated; it's still a largely unknown aspect of life that we can only form theories of for what we've been able to witness. I won't bother you with it any further, promise.

But I would greatly appreciate word from you again if you contact Mr. Conagher down on Level 3, whether or not he's able to assist you. And perhaps I could tempt you with pastries and coffee some time to learn a little more about each other. I've enjoyed speaking with you, Caim. Please let me know if there is ever anything I can do to help you.

( He'd taken an interest in her mention of armor earlier, but even if it's something far more base-needs, such as someone to suture up an injury or a quiet place to lay low. She always welcomes company. )

There are not many I would wish in my place, admittedly.

[Not many Midgard could trust to be capable of the same bloodlust without remorse. Caim may be good at what he does simply because there's a sense of emotional detachment from it all. A weaker being would be destroyed in the process. Confident or not, Caim chooses not to state any of that.

He's just thinking that he wouldn't absolutely hate to learn more about her and the complicated world she comes from when she makes her own kind of offer. And follows it up with what seems to be a compliment. Who in their right mind could enjoy speaking with him? He's so accustomed to being met with hostility that the number of nice people in Lunatia is ultimately extremely appalling to him. He almost trusts them less than those who would come for his head.

Killing with kindness?]

I will let you know what I discover. I also would not be inclined to turning down food and drink.

[Why, yes. He'd like to spend some more time with you too, Angela. He's just too awkward to say it like that.]

Nor I, mine, for as much good as I may do. It's still a very difficult and sometimes saddening job.

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. )

[She's so strange. So friendly. So... very different from the people he's accustomed to. Not that someone like Leonard wasn't friendly. Just that the terms were different. There's no death looming over him here. No need for him to constantly be swinging his sword. As a result, it gives him this extra time to see a world for what it is instead of the jaded cynicism he's been groomed to accept and resign himself to. It, in fact, is almost overwhelming in the broad sense of things. No sword to swing. A lot of time to do almost nothing.

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.

( The overwhelming sense of free time is something she easily relates to; Angela didn't wield a sword but she would wield a scalpel with the same conviction and dedication just as often, set to saving lives instead of taking them. It was a purpose she never would have willingly left, but eight months in this place has left her at least more at ease that she could still try to help others, here. It's better than nothing.

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. 😊

['Difficulty' is one way of putting it. The difficulty is actually not having a dragon to speak on his behalf. Now that he's being forced to speak for himself, Caim is coming to remember just how not good he is with people. He's not terrible and his months in Lunatia have made him practise this skill, but he's keenly aware of a past where he was much more interested in training than addressing those around him. With some exceptions. The more things change, the more they stay the same, evidently. If anything, it's him merely reconnecting to a man he once was.]

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.

( Well, he's been just fine with her, so far, and she doesn't anticipate him having such a volatile personality in person she'll have any issues settling beside him for a meal. She's calm, and she's endlessly patient, and sometimes she has the right words to convey what needs conveying. There's little else one can ask for in their ability to get along with others, she thinks.

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.

[What do you know, it is something she can help him with. Or so it sounds. Although Caim supposes it's possible that she'd not help at all and be simply interested in facing the man in person before she decides where he should properly be directed. Honestly, if he keeps trying to second-guess everyone around him and look for something that may not even exist, it's just going to drive him mad to the point of further isolation. It would be better to take steps forward than to take steps back.

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.]

( She's quite clever, after all, and something of that caliber is child's play. She could likely make him some sort of weapon as well, were she inclined, but it's certainly an artform she's had no interest in learning or perfecting. Hard light technology, planes, armoring and of course, the nanotechnology applied to healing— those were her purviews, far more modern than swords and spears and shields.

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. )

[A day passes uneventfully, which is almost becoming shockingly commonplace for Caim. Yet time progresses as is it wont to do and before long, he finds himself en route to his outing with Angela, still wondering if this socialising thing is a good thing he's gotten himself into. He's not good at it and wouldn't be if he had a voice. At least, such skills are nothing in comparison to his ability with a sword. Or any other weapon, really.

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.]

( Isn't that just the way? Opposites attract and all, light and dark, no matter how chastely. She hadn't known what to expect for whoever would show up, but when a gentleman steps up to her table and pulls out her device to begin typing, she's already turning to smile up at him wider, fonder.

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. )

[Nice to meet him? In person? She's just as nice in person as she is over the network. A day later and he still doesn't know how to handle it. Maybe it's just this concept that he never will. That's probably the wiser option, really.]

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.]

( Well, of course. He could very well have blown her off entirely, if he so wished, or just not approached, or changed his mind. Surely most anyone could help him with this if they were familiar with more modern technology. But he put up with her rambling, and still asked her in the end. He still showed. The formality is well-observed and spoken with ease. He's younger than she thought he'd be. Somehow it's her first real observation about him.

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. )

[It... would be nice to say that Caim actually cared if he offended her or not. That would nice, but... unfortunately not realistic. At least, not at this stage of the game. Crazier things have happened and maybe one day when he's not so obsessed with himself and his own brooding anguish, his eyes might just notice that there's people outside of himself and immediate family that actually matter.

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.]

( It's perfectly fine to have other priorities, isn't it? She thinks so, anyway. She wouldn't find fault in his lack of sympathy if she were tender enough to be offended by something so small, though: if she were so tender in the first place, perhaps that understanding would be beyond her grasp.

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. )

[She's practically spoiling him. Perhaps once upon a time, this might have been considered commonplace. What else does one do with a prince, after all? In fact, in the moments he's had with Angela, Caim has admittedly felt more princely there than he has for the last seven, eight years. How long has it been? How old is he again? It feels like it's been eons since he's even looked at a calendar that wasn't Lunatian in nature. He doesn't even know if time works in this plane the way it does in Midgard. He doubts there's anyone he could ask about that either.

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."

( Welcome to the way she treats everyone she meets, Caim. She's more than happy to try and share food and some idle kindness with strangers who seem a little rougher around the edges— she worries for the penchant of others to let themselves get near enough to crystallizing as they can, and he hasn't presented himself as a terribly eager person for moonlacing. He hadn't even taken her hand when he approached.

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. )

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shall we action jump or bump it to a log? I have a catchall I can write a thing for him on!

I can do either or! Whatever is more convenient for you. 💕

here it is then! 💗 to action

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doubletake tab over to ruffle shirt

He's gonna go all ruffle all the time now. Makin' a fashion statement.

oh la la, prince caim~ also is it ok if I add you on plurk for future plot stuff?