She smiles a little, satisfied, when he takes a cracker, and looks over his shoulder a little. Camilla's no necromancer, but she's both learned enough -- both by training and by interest -- and has seen enough of Palamedes' theorems to know some basics; unfortunately, whatever it is that he's writing about is not basic. There's something going on with energy transmutation, and the symbol for soul, but she can't see that well -- he is substantially taller than her, after all -- and she's definitely not sure why he'd come bursting in having to write down a treatise on some kind of -- siphoning? Revenant transfer? It's not as though Darrow is teeming with inspiration about necromancy, for very starters.
"Your upper trapezius is a trigger point nightmare," she says mildly, feeling one such knot loosen under her slow push of blood into the area, as he scribbles away. "You have got to stop hunching."
Camilla blinks when he tips his head back and asks the question abruptly, eyes turned up at her. That room...yes, she remembers that room. How do you forget the last place you saw the dearest person to you in the world? How do you stop reliving how you managed to lose sight of them? If there's a way, even with him alive and familiarly cramping up all his muscles, she hasn't figured it out.
She had known he had figured something out, was the worst part. She'd seen the way he was at that wall, even surrounded by all that horror, Ianthe boasting about eating Naberius Tern, Coronabeth keening in the corner; and later, Silas and poor Colum...She'd felt it. She just hadn't known yet what it was.
She hadn't known it was her losing him.
"You lied to us," she says, slightly distantly, remembering the big black letters, the angry declaration, the way Palamedes had rubbed one thumb over the texture of the paint. She hears her voice almost as though it's someone else's, filtered back through all she knows now about the Blood of Eden, about the Empire, about God. "It said, you lied to us."
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"Your upper trapezius is a trigger point nightmare," she says mildly, feeling one such knot loosen under her slow push of blood into the area, as he scribbles away. "You have got to stop hunching."
Camilla blinks when he tips his head back and asks the question abruptly, eyes turned up at her. That room...yes, she remembers that room. How do you forget the last place you saw the dearest person to you in the world? How do you stop reliving how you managed to lose sight of them? If there's a way, even with him alive and familiarly cramping up all his muscles, she hasn't figured it out.
She had known he had figured something out, was the worst part. She'd seen the way he was at that wall, even surrounded by all that horror, Ianthe boasting about eating Naberius Tern, Coronabeth keening in the corner; and later, Silas and poor Colum...She'd felt it. She just hadn't known yet what it was.
She hadn't known it was her losing him.
"You lied to us," she says, slightly distantly, remembering the big black letters, the angry declaration, the way Palamedes had rubbed one thumb over the texture of the paint. She hears her voice almost as though it's someone else's, filtered back through all she knows now about the Blood of Eden, about the Empire, about God. "It said, you lied to us."