[She recalls his tale of betrayal with crystalline accuracy, and can't say she particularly blames him for thinking of things in quite the way she does. And she sees his sour look, watches it roll all the way around to curdled, and despite the fact that they're here right now, sharing cake and wine, telling each other their shitty secrets-- it still comes as a little shock to realise anyone would care about what happened to her.
You can blame her abysmal upbringing for that.
Nonetheless, she's waving his concern away with a casual roll of a shoulder, the shake of her head. The choice had been hers. She'd do it again and again, in a hot heartbeat, if meant Harrow got to live.]
What the fuck is about right. Harrow and ol' Sex Pal-- [That's Palamedes Sextus, Master Warden of the Library, Heir to the Sixth House to anyone less purile] --worked it out, I think, near the end. But we were all pretty fucked the moment we arrived on that mausoleum of a planet because of the ancient asswipe who sneaked in with us, so it didn't matter that neither of them would have gone through with it. And you know, I think they actually could have cracked it. How to complete the Lyctoral process without anyone having to die, perfected the megatheorum whatsit, or whatever. There's no way in Hell Palamedes would ever have cannibalised Cam, and Harrow...alright, so we were at each other's throats for our entire lives, but she absolutely did not want me dead. We were backed into a really tight spot though, and wouldn't it be better if some of us made it out of there alive, rather than none of us?
[It's the way she'd seen it, anyway. Someone needed to be left standing to beat that skanky old hag's ass. It takes a Lyctor to beat a Lyctor. She shrugs again, and takes another swig of wine.]
Sorry, I'm just spewing words at you now. It probably doesn't make a lot of sense. But it's better to think about the here and now anyway, right? Like, what is this place, and why did you invite me here specifically?
[It isn’t a subtle attempt to change the subject, but perhaps she just wants to see his expression brighten again.]
definitely a bad time :(
You can blame her abysmal upbringing for that.
Nonetheless, she's waving his concern away with a casual roll of a shoulder, the shake of her head. The choice had been hers. She'd do it again and again, in a hot heartbeat, if meant Harrow got to live.]
What the fuck is about right. Harrow and ol' Sex Pal-- [That's Palamedes Sextus, Master Warden of the Library, Heir to the Sixth House to anyone less purile] --worked it out, I think, near the end. But we were all pretty fucked the moment we arrived on that mausoleum of a planet because of the ancient asswipe who sneaked in with us, so it didn't matter that neither of them would have gone through with it. And you know, I think they actually could have cracked it. How to complete the Lyctoral process without anyone having to die, perfected the megatheorum whatsit, or whatever. There's no way in Hell Palamedes would ever have cannibalised Cam, and Harrow...alright, so we were at each other's throats for our entire lives, but she absolutely did not want me dead. We were backed into a really tight spot though, and wouldn't it be better if some of us made it out of there alive, rather than none of us?
[It's the way she'd seen it, anyway. Someone needed to be left standing to beat that skanky old hag's ass. It takes a Lyctor to beat a Lyctor. She shrugs again, and takes another swig of wine.]
Sorry, I'm just spewing words at you now. It probably doesn't make a lot of sense. But it's better to think about the here and now anyway, right? Like, what is this place, and why did you invite me here specifically?
[It isn’t a subtle attempt to change the subject, but perhaps she just wants to see his expression brighten again.]