[It's a challenge almost immediately to hold still, when Choso touches him like that. The only thing he wants to do is curl up around Choso's fingers, but he holds back save for the one already around Choso's wrist- wrapping an extra ring around and then going loose again, slipping up under his sleeve.
Just a bit; just curious. The rest is listening, brow knit in silent dread as the story gets, well, worse and worse. Eight siblings—nine children. Somehow becoming objects- a function of this sorcery?- as if the fate of that poor woman and nine dead children wasn't grim enough for one story. Palamedes knows death, of course, but until recently he has been largely sheltered from cruelty, except in the conceptual; distant, war machine cruelty, impersonal cruelty.
This is a personal cruelty. He thinks, if he could meet this sorcerer, that he would squeeze his heart until it burst. No wonder Choso has leaned into bubbles and board games and playgrounds - what else could there be, besides some yawning chasm of despair?
He shakes his head.]
You really are an excellent big brother. I'm sorry— you and your family deserved better.
[He wants to ask what happened to the others, the ones that weren't incarnated, but if there even is an answer to that, it might just be too much cruelty to listen to at once. Instead, because he thinks it bears saying properly,]
I'm grateful, you know, that you told me. It's devastating in ways I didn't think possible. Still, knowing that about you, my feelings haven't changed.
[So no un-reading, no pretending to forget. He reaches out to cup Choso's cheek in his hand. It's so much to share at once, despite Choso's little asides that sharing it doesn't bother him. It sounds like it does, so-]
no subject
Just a bit; just curious. The rest is listening, brow knit in silent dread as the story gets, well, worse and worse. Eight siblings—nine children. Somehow becoming objects- a function of this sorcery?- as if the fate of that poor woman and nine dead children wasn't grim enough for one story. Palamedes knows death, of course, but until recently he has been largely sheltered from cruelty, except in the conceptual; distant, war machine cruelty, impersonal cruelty.
This is a personal cruelty. He thinks, if he could meet this sorcerer, that he would squeeze his heart until it burst. No wonder Choso has leaned into bubbles and board games and playgrounds - what else could there be, besides some yawning chasm of despair?
He shakes his head.]
You really are an excellent big brother. I'm sorry— you and your family deserved better.
[He wants to ask what happened to the others, the ones that weren't incarnated, but if there even is an answer to that, it might just be too much cruelty to listen to at once. Instead, because he thinks it bears saying properly,]
I'm grateful, you know, that you told me. It's devastating in ways I didn't think possible. Still, knowing that about you, my feelings haven't changed.
[So no un-reading, no pretending to forget. He reaches out to cup Choso's cheek in his hand. It's so much to share at once, despite Choso's little asides that sharing it doesn't bother him. It sounds like it does, so-]
Are you alright?