[Oh, and he could have stayed where he was, the loss of that particular bit of warmth a bit unfortunate; Palamedes' own fault for not specifying that he doesn't need to do anything in particular, outwardly. There aren't incantations to chant or gestures to make, just skin on skin, and the rest is behind the curtain, as it were. There's no visible clue that he's doing anything at all— which is half the reason he prefers to ask first.
Psychometry never gives the full story, only the end- and an ending is so much clearer on a body that's died, the thanergetic bloom of death laying a blanket of trace energy that lasts for years and years and years. Items smeared with thanergy are easy to read, will open at the cracks and let out their unseen secrets for him with a little push. The living are harder, but not impossible; he would know if Camilla had passed through a room by the objects that she'd touched.
Still, it's an imperfect thing, and further under the haze thrown over the full scope of his necromancy, and the difference in worlds. Age, simple enough— multiple ages, which for a moment he assumes is the Natural Soul's influence, but- no.
Huh.
Choso's full past he can't see; only this thing about his age, and his insides, and the vague squirming presence of the Natural Soul- left alone, because he's already learned his lesson about that one. All of that and what he can only think of as a strangeness, the energy he doesn't recognize, like a blind spot; he can stare right at it and see nothing at all but the absence of a thing, here in the psychometric context. Thanergy, no, thalergy, absolutely not— closer to the former, maybe, if he had to guess.
He'll ask. But first he says,] Thank you. [For letting him do it, trusting him to do it. With a tilt of his head he presses a kiss to Choso's forehead, like a punctuation mark; he's finished doing the invisible magic, now.]
Can I ask about the... mystery energy? I've never seen anything like it.
no subject
Psychometry never gives the full story, only the end- and an ending is so much clearer on a body that's died, the thanergetic bloom of death laying a blanket of trace energy that lasts for years and years and years. Items smeared with thanergy are easy to read, will open at the cracks and let out their unseen secrets for him with a little push. The living are harder, but not impossible; he would know if Camilla had passed through a room by the objects that she'd touched.
Still, it's an imperfect thing, and further under the haze thrown over the full scope of his necromancy, and the difference in worlds. Age, simple enough— multiple ages, which for a moment he assumes is the Natural Soul's influence, but- no.
Huh.
Choso's full past he can't see; only this thing about his age, and his insides, and the vague squirming presence of the Natural Soul- left alone, because he's already learned his lesson about that one. All of that and what he can only think of as a strangeness, the energy he doesn't recognize, like a blind spot; he can stare right at it and see nothing at all but the absence of a thing, here in the psychometric context. Thanergy, no, thalergy, absolutely not— closer to the former, maybe, if he had to guess.
He'll ask. But first he says,] Thank you. [For letting him do it, trusting him to do it. With a tilt of his head he presses a kiss to Choso's forehead, like a punctuation mark; he's finished doing the invisible magic, now.]
Can I ask about the... mystery energy? I've never seen anything like it.