Only Harrowhark could say something as utterly dreary as too much flavour regarding food-- for the vast majority of Gideon's young life, eating had been a matter of refueling, something one did so as not to collapse embarrassingly at Aiglamene's feet in the middle of a particularly grueling training session. The food at Canaan House had been a revelation, and here? Here she's finally been transported to the kinds of dazzling culinary delights she never even knew to dream of. Too much flavour indeed. Gideon rolls her eyes so far back into her skull that she really ought to be able to see it.
When they return from their exasperated circulation however, she does see it; that infinitesimal change in colouration around the tips of Harrow's ears, the slight altering of her posture that no one but Gideon - with years and years of studying Harrow's subtle shifts in mood beneath her belt - would be able to discern. As such, she says nothing. Feels embarrassingly hot under the collar herself, suddenly, although she doesn't really want to think about why.
Instead she busies herself with staring at the highly polished floors, the tapestries and paintings that all look so fresh and filled with colour that they're almost an affront to the eyes. They pass a sunlit window that leaves the hardwood beneath their feet flooded by pools of light, and outside the sky is a startling shade of cobalt blue. This place, it's something else. Despite Harrow's dour tone of disapproval and her own secret uneasiness at finding herself amidst so much luxury (not to mention the alarming lack of skeletons), she can't help but feel a quiet shiver of awe.
"This is probably the weirdest shit I've ever gone and said but...the lack of skeletons is kinda creeping me out," a statement that almost makes her cringe, it sounds so depressingly Ninth.
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When they return from their exasperated circulation however, she does see it; that infinitesimal change in colouration around the tips of Harrow's ears, the slight altering of her posture that no one but Gideon - with years and years of studying Harrow's subtle shifts in mood beneath her belt - would be able to discern. As such, she says nothing. Feels embarrassingly hot under the collar herself, suddenly, although she doesn't really want to think about why.
Instead she busies herself with staring at the highly polished floors, the tapestries and paintings that all look so fresh and filled with colour that they're almost an affront to the eyes. They pass a sunlit window that leaves the hardwood beneath their feet flooded by pools of light, and outside the sky is a startling shade of cobalt blue. This place, it's something else. Despite Harrow's dour tone of disapproval and her own secret uneasiness at finding herself amidst so much luxury (not to mention the alarming lack of skeletons), she can't help but feel a quiet shiver of awe.
"This is probably the weirdest shit I've ever gone and said but...the lack of skeletons is kinda creeping me out," a statement that almost makes her cringe, it sounds so depressingly Ninth.