hellonspectacles | (no subject)

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game: darrow

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Early in their time in Darrow, Pal and Gideon had gotten drinks on the regular, an easy warmth growing between them that the Warden hadn’t seen coming. Lately, though, thanks to one thing or another (trauma, universe-altering necromantic theorems, and strangest of all, actual romantic relationships), they hadn’t gotten around to it. So when Gideon texts Pal a little beer stein emoji, followed by a strong of question marks, he can’t bring himself to beg off, even if his plan for the evening had involved tea and some very important necromancer math. He texts back, suggesting the name of a bar, and a few hours later he’s out in the chilly winter air, heading towards it.

And yes, he’s still doing necromancer math in his head as he approaches the bar’s entrance, but when has that not been the case?

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"Please don't call my girlfriend 'Miss Objectively Hot' ever again." He props his chin on his hand. "Fine. you get to ask me three questions about your romantic relationship."

He doesn't actually expect Gideon to abide by an arbitrary rule like that, but he can try.

Gideon holds her hands up on surrender but she's definitely smirking when she does it.

"Are you doing it?" Never let it be said that Gideon Nav has anything other than a stubbornly one track brain.

Palamedes considers being pedantic and saying something like, doing what? But that will only delay the inevitable.

“…Yes. Two more questions.”

A broad grin spreads across Gideon's face. She's in a position of safety here; she's pretty sure that Palamedes is too horrified by the idea of the Reverend Daughter actually having sex to actually ever ask about it.

"How much do you like her? Like like her."

"Romantic attraction isn't quantifiable, Nav," Pal says with a roll of his eyes. He props his cheek on his hand and traces a whorl in the table. "I like her a lot." He wrinkles his nose, disliking the imprecision of the answer. "What sort of comparative scale are we talking about here?"

"Bullshit," says Gideon, but she's grinning when she says it. She watches him trace the pattern on the table. "You tell me. I've been into a lot of people, most of them fictional, but I've only actually been in love with one, so..." She shrugs.

A pained look crosses Palamedes face. There’s only one person that comes to mind when he thinks about love, even now. He was the one who had invited comparison, but now it seems awfully unfair to set Dulcinea and Marianne side by side.

“…I like her a lot,” he repeats at last.

"Fair enough," says Gideon, turning her beer against the table with her hand, overlapping circles of condensation on the dark wood. "Liking someone can go a long way, right? Some days, I totally wish I liked Harrow more."

Palamedes huffs a laugh. Though he obviously doesn't feel for Harrow what Gideon does, he thinks he knows what she means. Pal cares for the other necromancer deeply, but does he like her? It depends on the day.

"The Reverend Daughter has spent most of her life deliberately trying not to be liked," he observes. "If we all started liking her all the time, she wouldn't know what to do."

Nobody knows that like Gideon knows it, knew it every day of her life, practically, leading up to Caanan House. She remembers, on a fundamental level, how confusing it had been when everything between them started to change. The recollection carries the tinge of saltwater on her tongue.

"She'd absolutely hate it," she says, smirking.

"She'd be mortified," Palamedes agrees with a small grin of his own. And because he likes to be fair, he adds, "You have one more question."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm thinking about it," says Gideon, and, honestly, she's coming up blank. She could probably make Palamedes blush if she really put her mind to it, but right now, she honestly can't think of anything. She takes a sip of her beer. "Does she got on with Cam?"

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