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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[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. )

[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."

text; username: ambivalenceblack

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?

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 👀💕