[Stress leads to nightmares; that's Stress 101, and Palamedes is no stranger to the odd stress dream, here and there. The problem, here in Trench, is that it's fucking Trench, and so his stress dreams are only the one dream, and it's the same one every time.
He doesn't expect it, despite himself, when he settles down for the evening with Viktor, which here means tosses his book to the foot of their bed, drops his glasses on the nightstand, and rolls into Viktor's space to pepper him relentlessly with kisses all over his neck and shoulders until Viktor also welcomes Bedtime. Why should he expect a stress dream after this, a warm and blessedly peaceful evening reading in bed! That the past month has been a hassle, and the weeks ahead promise to be stressful in a pointedly different kind of way, and everything else about this city shouldn't guarantee the same stress dream from night to night, but...
Well, here they are. Or here Palamedes is, once he's dozed off into the dream, sitting in the sickroom at Canaan House and quite literally scratching at the wallpaper. Nothing happens here, he'd told Viktor months ago, and the same to Harrow months before that, and it's still true— the sickroom of his own making is alone, is separate, is without. Nothing happens. Time does not pass. Necromancy does not work.
Immediately, his skin crawls just sitting there, but getting up to move around the room isn't any better. He doesn't know what to do, there isn't anything to do, and Palamedes has never been incredibly good at waiting around for other people to do their part. Not to be unfair to Camilla, wherever she is out there, trying to solve the hardest puzzle of their lives, but he fucking hates waiting around for the end.
He paces for a while. He doesn't know how long.
He sits for a while, after that. Maybe hours pass.
He picks at the wallpaper, pulls off another piece, thinks about his stupid sequel to Marriage Season and leaves the scrap on the table.
For variety, he kicks one of the chairs over; nothing.
He doesn't know how long he does nothing. After maybe minutes or maybe years, something possesses him to look out the window; stupid, because nothing is out there, it's only a void, and the moon, and—
The moon? The fucking moon? Gears turn; something clicks. It doesn't make sense at all, but it's just jarring enough to shake him to lucidity and he wonders aloud, as he turns away from the window:]
Viktor?
[Because what else could this be? The moon is paleblood, and he sleeps smushed against a paleblood every night, it seems perfectly logical that if something is up in dreams, it's Viktor again, whether or not he's aware of it.
Which means— There's no telling how shattered he'll be if the next idea that comes to him returns nothing at all, but he owes it to himself to try, and it's not like Viktor has suddenly crawled out from under the table—
He crosses the sickroom to the door, the one that leads to more void. Void so thick it's tangible, a solid wall of nothing, stretching endlessly. Fingers close around the doorknob and his skin crawls again, a sick-dread feeling, like maybe he is better off just sitting in this nothingness for the next eternity if it means not having to face the reality of more nothing on the other side of this door—
He turns the knob, pulls the door open. Blinks at the scene beyond, and without looking back at the sickroom again, steps through into somewhere else.]
[this is a dream he's had too many times before, as though his mind is sneering and pointing at blatant lie he tells himself sometimes that he came out of piltover unscathed.
stupid, he's aware it's not that simple. he's also riddled too often with a sinking mire of guilt at the audacity of thinking three square meals a day and fresh air are a trial to be passed. that he didn't have the choice to turn his back, or say no, or any number of things. that for all he wanted to help he'll always be a traitor in one way or another, and to pretend that pretty, gilded piltover where he chose to go could leave any scars-
it's usually a party like this. the ball room is suitably grand, people in masks, in gold and silver accents, walking the floor silently. his cane thuds with every step, and his clothes itch with how much they cost and how few times he'll use them again. he'll come to another party in a month and people will somehow remember he wore this before, and they'll look at him in pity or smug understanding that he does not belong.
sometimes he remembers jayce enough in his dreams of these parties to endlessly try to seek him out, glimpses of red and gold that vanish as quickly as they come. sometimes the spends the entire dream staring at a clock on the wall, watching its gears shift and clank in time with murmurs. he could listen in but there's no point in it, he knows the script. this party with it's grand, wasteful hourglass ticks down grains of sand, and when he wakes he can rightfully mock his own mind for the heavy-handed symbolism.
there's a flutter of something through the dream, that some edge of his thoughts recognizes as unnatural but his dreaming mind is quick to meld into the narrative. the midnight hour turns to golden evening, and hears a pair of women murmur about the new guest, the strange new guest. it makes him curious enough to glance through the crowd, a slow approach to what seems to be an entrance he didn't notice before and the gaggle of people surrounding it to get a better look.
(and enjoy viktor's dreaming mind warring against the idea of anyone wearing dull greys to this sort of thing, pal, trying to wrap him in something with strong lines and clean metallics, as if imparting obvious favoritism in a sea of gaudy colors and caricatures of luxury.)]
[Well, of course he's dressed sharply, all crisp blues with silver trim run riot over the vest and jacket, in the way that an ambassador from [REDACTED] should appropriately be dressed. Of course, and this is murmured about around the crowd as Palamedes makes his way through the entrance to the ballroom, pausing—
just a moment—
to look over his shoulder at the door swinging shut behind him, but it closes definitively before he can see whatever he needs to see.
So: the party. Frankly, he didn't want to come to this, but his mother insisted, and what else is the "ambassador" title supposed to be for?, and rather than listen to her chuckle at him over his trim and tails, he just goes.
Something that must be rakishly funny comes out of his mouth as he looks back at the people surrounding him because most of them laugh, and he's not really paying attention to any one introduction as he nods at this mask or the other smile or this pair of fluttering lashes, no— he wants to... like, not be here. That'd be great.
It takes him a full minute to extricate himself from those guests thrilled about the new face, and he is shuffling away with his glasses off, rubbing them inelegantly on the hem of his shirt (which he has scandalously untucked for this purpose, call the guard) when he spots Viktor in his path. That is to say, he whips his glasses up in front of his face to check his polishing job so quickly that he nearly elbows Viktor in the head, first thing, on his approach.
The room kind of stutters for a moment, like everything shifts abruptly to the left and snaps back again before anyone can notice. Palamedes blinks and puts his glasses all the way on. Ah-]
[Palamedes' second consecutive month spent mostly in the Sanctuary is, a mere two days in, already looking like a stressful one. Not because of the Sanctuary, and somehow not because of the city anymore, no matter what the sea is doing— but he's gearing up to do some serious medical procedures in a few weeks, and so all of his time is spent hunched over books and notes, studying and re-studying and learning and memorizing and getting a crick in his neck the likes of which mankind has never before encountered.
It might seem - a little counterintuitive, that he's so eager to welcome Jun back to the Sanctuary and his office of too many bookshelves when Jun messages about an "interesting book" in somewhat uncertain terms, being another book, but! It's different and for fun, and so Palamedes considers it a great restful activity for taking a break.
(And if he suggested snacks and books at the Sanctuary to spare Jun having to ask, well, that's just his eminent consideration.)
He isn't anticipating two little dudes to turn up in the Sanctuary looking for him, though, so—]
Oh! I'll send for more snacks. [And then, gesturing for them to get in here,] Hi, come in, come in, pick a spot to sit.
[There are two big, egregiously comfy armchairs on this side of his desk, but there's also, like, the rug on the floor, he won't judge.]
[Jun has been debating this for a while - he was a little slow to respond to Pal's initial welcome back to Sanctuary. But he has found an interesting book in the Archives, and Falco was there with him when he discovered the fossils.]
[Really, Falco was the one who discovered the fossils initially, so it makes sense to bring him.]
Hi. ... I don't know if you know each other, so just in case - Palamedes, this is Falco. Falco, this is Palamedes.
[He heads over to one of the chairs and takes out a thick book that seems to be about... fossils? It makes more sense when he starts pulling out chunks of rock with what look like old sea life fossils on them.]
[ he hoped it was alright— it sounded like a great idea, and the extended invitation to come had made falco slightly giddy. book club. he's never been a part of the sort, but it seems well up his alley. when palamedes doesn't seem to mind his presence, falco steps out better from behind jun: same age, hauling a seemingly heavy messenger bag on one side of him, all while keeping a crutch under his opposite arm. he bows his head in greeting and offers a meek but enthused smile and says: ]
Hello, sir— Thank you for having me. [ oh, a chair! look how big and comfy they are! he's sure he can fit two of him in it side by side, and carefully makes his way, one foot, crutch, then the other foot, over to sand his spot and ret his legs. ] We found those, and some rocks in the caves by the beach.
[When Vi asks for first aid lessons, Palamedes initially considers suggesting she come shadow him for a morning at the Lumenarium. It is a hospital, and he does do the greater part of his actual medical care there— but ah, after yet another morning sticking his hands in viscera, he thinks, no - no, for basic first aid and not watching him coil some poor bastard's intestines back into his body, the Sanctuary is the best bet.
So, he suggests the Sanctuary, and more specifically he suggests a back room just off the official infirmary, just so they aren't disturbing anyone's much-needed rest. It's better, now that the city has calmed down— more than a few locals have stopped by to politely apologize for how they've acted towards Sanctuary Sleepers out around town, and the infirmary is mercifully less full than it has been in times before, but - still. A nice and quiet back room.
He has brought supplies, which he has arranged on a table, and he has also brought. Well. Rio, Viktor's omen, because Rio likes him best and definitely anticipates lots of attention and maybe even an apple treat for playing this fun game.
Little does she know. Palamedes gestures at her magnanimously, to begin.]
Okay; here's our patient. Let's imagine she's just taken a nasty spill. What would you do first?
[Rio would like a pat on the head, but that's a trick, don't be fooled.]
[vi's experience with first aid is a bit ...limited. suck it up is her main method of coping, and she's familiar with "dab it with alcohol or spirits", using the cleanest cloth available (which, to be fair, hasn't always been so clean), cleaning all the rocks or dirt out, and some makeshift minor stitchery. (also icing things and small applications of heat, but that's almost been forgotten over the years.)
even if her recent experiences in the infirmary haven't all been pleasant, she has no misgivings about this. she's glad to be in a more sequestered area. it's quiet, she's learning something useful (perhaps sansa will be pleased she is doing this), she likes palamedes, and also she likes rio.
she looks over the carefully laid out supplies on the table with curiosity, possibly finding a name or a use at least for one or two, but drawing a blank otherwise.
first off, imagining rio taking a nasty spill produces an instant look of 'oh no' on vi's face. so the first thing, apparently, is 'make this face'. but on to step two.]
I'm gonna help her up, if she can get up. Can she get up?
[vi leans in, tries to slip an arm up and under rio, looking back at palamedes.]
[Rio would love!! to get up, and trills pleasantly at Vi as she comes over to do this thing. Rio is a terrible actress, but the beautiful tableau of Vi trying to hoist a giant lizard-thing onto her shoulder is, at least, funny.
But not medically sound, and after a moment, Palamedes holds up a finger to wait, not unlike a schoolmarm. Ahem.]
Now, hold on; she's fallen. Before you move her at all, you ought to check what her injuries are.
[Presently, Rio bumps her big head into Vi's ear, which is totally helping. Palamedes tuts at her.]
Moving someone like this- [a gesture, this move here,] is a surefire way to put stress on the spine, which could already be injured.
In any case, the first thing to do is make sure she's conscious. [looking at rio, the worst actress....] Pretend you don't know.
[Bethany is ornery. That's the problem Palamedes has been having, these past few days: his little ghost daughter is fussy, and while he is fully capable of making a haunted doll as comfortable as a doll with a girl's soul inside can be, well! He's not a mind-reader, and she doesn't want to tell her what her problem is. Just that she has one, and she takes to sulking after that.
So, Palamedes asks Sansa to come and try her luck talking to the girl. Specifically in Palamedes' doorless office, where all the wards are put down to allow the various Sanctuary ghosts to manifest visibly; the old man is, of course, enjoying his quiet time in his quiet corner, and Bethany (or, well, her doll) has gone upstairs into the loft to pout.
Palamedes gestures up, when Sansa arrives, and if she looks up in time she'll catch a glimpse of Bethany's ghostly round face peering over the loft railing before she darts out of sight again. The little spirit girl is maybe ten years old, babyfaced and with a head of tight curls, dressed in a simple ghostly peasant's dress. She's translucent— but thanks to Palamedes' wards, completely visible to any and all visitors.
Well, besides how she's sulking out of sight.]
Thanks for taking the time. She's upset, but I'm just— [her new dad, so obviously he won't get it. mmph.] At a loss.
[sansa beams with pride at being considered for this task. she even looks a bit like a governess in her grey linen dress and wide leather belt. lady settles in a corner, her eyes and ears following bethany's general direction. sansa speaks very clearly.]
Oh, I should be very glad to see my good friend, Lady Bethany. We always have such a nice time talking; she has very interesting things to say.
[she smiles at pal, briefly conspiratorially, and then peers around, rising to her tiptoes with an expression of innocent concern.]
Bethany? I was hoping we could spend some time together. Lady is very much looking forward to it.
[There's a ghostly kind of shuffling noise from up in the loft when Sansa speaks, as little Bethany clearly has a private war with herself about whether to continue sulking for attention or actually come down and get her attention. After a moment her little ghostly hand pops out over the edge of the loft, waving in a distinct 'come here' fashion. Palamedes heads for the loft ladder, obligingly.]
That's my cue. Hold on a moment.
[He's tall, so he doesn't need to go all the way up the ladder to reach Bethany's doll 'body' and bring it back down, where he sets it on the arm of one of the two comfy armchairs not behind his desk. Once he's done that, Bethany's spirit manifests again from out of the doll, settling into the chair and spreading her hands over her plain skirt in her lap like a fine little lady (one who immediately begins to fidget with the hem of the skirt anyway, but like, she's trying).
She clears her throat, a chalky sort of noise, and Palamedes yet again obligingly moves aside, going to sit at his desk.
Bethany, in her wispy, ghostly voice, says,] Hello, ma'am.
[It feels like an eon ago that he'd told Viktor he would carve up some fruit slices into shapes as a thank you for Ortus. Strange, because it feels like a few days ago that he swallowed a shitton of seawater and broke his old pair of glasses and everything else that happened, but - they're well within the Fruit Slices Age now, and Palamedes figures - well.
He should? Ortus did him a solid, and he really did not have to, and why not excise a portion of his restless lingering anxiety into cutting fruit shapes.
Mostly, it's a basket of fruit that he produces. He doesn't think wasting a ton of fruits with his mediocre attempts to make skull shapes will go over well with Abigail, the Sanctuary cook, but she at least lets him have free reign over the fruit selection if he agrees to eat a few grapes. (Terrifying woman.)
So it is with an extremely quaint literal picnic basket filled with mostly whole fruits and, dotted around on the topmost layer, a bunch of apples artfully (not really) carved to look like jawless skulls that Palamedes sets out on his delivery quest. He's had the glasses fixed with some surprisingly elegant welding that he had nothing to do with, and he is not so grey these days, stomping around in his yellow boots and a dusky dusted cardigan, but he's made the effort to pick a tshirt with the most jawless-looking art deco skull on it, to show his solidarity and support.
It's a brand new day, etc, etc. Time for fruit. He knocks sharply, when he's arrived, and he waits. Does he know this is a place of business, or... whatever karate is? Yes, probably. But still. People are living here? One does not simply barge in.]
[Being unaccustomed to places of business, it does not strike Ortus as odd to hear a rap upon the door - or perhaps it is the excuse to set aside the weights he has been dolefully moving about in an effort to achieve what Captain Aiglamene and Johnny Lawrence both call 'conditioning' and he suspects to be a form of obscure hazing.
He dabs his brow and slips into his black outer robe over the capacious training clothes (a 'gi', as he understands) he has been prevailed upon to accept before he goes to answer the door. He blinks up at the young Warden through a skull paint of a quality that Gideon Nav would be proud of, in its smudging, and tenders up a small but genuine smile.]
Master Warden.
[He does not bow or scrape, though the manner of his inclined nod and stepping aside to open the door to Palamedes is laden with respect beyond those tokens.]
My lady is in repose, and I believe Gideon to be on an errand of mysterious providence, but I am certain she will return soon. Please, make yourself welcome - I will bring you a cup of water, if you care to wait.
[Ever since learning of the pernicious impact of dehydration due to the irradiating orb above them, Ortus has been vigilant against its predations.]
[The smudging of the skull paint and the- the whatever Ortus is wearing, karate vestments?- are just the same as Palamedes' own not-entirely-conscious wardrobe shift, he imagines. Not that he imagines Ortus spends all of his time in the karate regalia (or whatever it is), so - moreso the paint. It's the kind of subtle shift that Palamedes notes and says nothing about, simply nodding in return and offering his own greeting, as he shuffles over the threshold:]
Ortus the Ninth.
[—And that, too, is pointed in an unspoken way. He is still Master Warden and Ortus is still Ninth, and neither of them need be fettered by, not to put too fine a point on it, bullshit politics. In the absence of politics he glances around the Karate Zone, as always lost in the realm of athleticism. Wack.
Anyway. First:] Water would be great, thanks.
[And, well, before the skull apples brown under their shield of plastic wrap, he holds up his basket offering.]
I came to see you, actually. With— fruit. Too much of it, but I didn't know the exact number of you all, here.
[His arm has been numb for several minutes, fruit is heavy. Please accept this.]
[The convalescent room is, Palamedes thinks, one of his better ideas. He appreciates the option of a closed-door quiet room, away from the Infirmary and its other patients, away from the bustle of the main rooms of the Sanctuary, his own office that doesn't have a damn door— it's a good idea.
It's not a very complex room, just one of the spare rooms they'd cleared out, converted into a resting room. Whatever this room was for at the monastery's inception it wasn't chilling and resting, because the room is a weird and kind of oblong shape, but it has plenty of room for a few bunkbed cots, a lumpy sofa, and a table with chairs. There are board games, a few books on a shelf by the table, and a comically large hourglass that counts down precisely one hour, stationed by the door.
That one can be ignored; that's for Palamedes' personal project.
In any case, this is the room Nara'a is recommended after a basic wellness check at the Sanctuary, with a probably not very good explanation of how this is the "waiting around to see if you're corrupted badly" room. Palamedes arrives some ten minutes later, knocking before he sticks his head in the door.]
—Hi. Did they explain this very badly? It's a convalescent center.
[Nara'a has had a... difficult few weeks. From being bitten by D to dealing with the fact that D went off and died somehow, on top of fighting monsters and dealing with Dabi, on top of trying to make sure people don't die at the shore... it's enough to cause anyone to question their sanity a little bit.]
[So he's come to Sanctuary to get a check-up - chirurgeons were always people he trusted implicitly. If nothing else, they're good people in his experience, so he trusts the ones at Sanctuary even if they're not chirurgeons by trade.]
[He looks up at Palamedes once he sticks his head in the room, a book in his hand. He closes it and smiles at the other.]
Maybe. They said to wait in here to check if I was corrupted...
[The Trenchie volunteers at the Sanctuary are quite helpful - they ought to be, this is a literal charity - but they aren't, as it were, completely in tune with Palamedes' slight tendency to get in his head and forget to share half of his grand ideas, sometimes. Even when those ideas are, ah, a resting room. The convalescent center.
And right now, a little, when he says,] The ministers at the Lumenarium would have explained it better; they know my quirks by now.
["Wait in here to check" does kind of imply, like, that something will happen? But it's mostly a quiet place to rest and relax just in case something then happens.]
This was my idea, I thought— well, Lumenwood is already swimming in corruption from all the ministering, so you could say the idea was to not let that happen here. Overcrowding in the infirmary, and so on...
[He taps the side of the big hourglass, idly, squinting at it. Ah-]
I'm minimizing exposure to blood and other stressors, et cetera. With board games, generously donated. How are you feeling?
[So, Palamedes has decided something: the ocean is truly irredeemable. It's nothing personal; it's just a lot of water that has killed-or-nearly-killed him too many times to be trusted, no matter how many cool ships with fascinating artifacts are down there at the bottom.
Not, of course, irredeemable enough to not go see the ships again; nah. But he still doesn't like it, which is why he's come to this particular sea walk meeting with Nico more prepared than before. Notably, he's found some additional cord to use to tighten the existing cord on his glasses such that they won't float off his face underwater - a real concern. He's also deigned to wear only one layer of funny skull t-shirt today, because the excess of cardigans really did him no favors the last time.
Also, he's brought a much larger bag with him to put stuff in. He meets Nico on the beach, close to the start of the glowing path, and he looks vaguely like a man heading off for his 50th battle in the trenches.
So the ocean experiences are going great. He nods at Nico in greeting, fiddling with the strap on his bag, and he says,] Ships are haunted.
[ There's a lot about the ocean that throws Nico back in time. Once, when he liked a boy with sea-green eyes, who smelled the sea breeze, who controlled the waves, whose emotions could reflect the storms and calmness of the water. Back to when he'd suffered through hell, then failed to save that boy from the very same hell. Riding on a boat that flew high in the sky because their sea expert was gone. The time spent on that ride with Jason.
Yeah, the ocean holds a lot of emotions for him, too.
Nico is prepared to go under the water, to let himself sink down into the sea's embrace in order to explore the wreckage of ships. He's without his shoes, though still wearing socks to give him some protection, wearing a pair of thin black pants and a gray tank top (there's no sense of self-consciousness about the scars on his upper arms). Just to be easily spotted if they get separated. Then nothing but his sword at his side. It won't do to weigh them both down if there's trouble. ]
Yep. They usually are. [ He looks over at Palamedes fiddling with the bag. ] Want me to carry that?
[Palamedes can't help but eye the sword with some wariness, even if he doesn't expect it to be necessary; he's not unaccustomed to running around with someone heavily armed, and for a moment he misses Camilla so very strongly he nearly forgets what they're doing—
Ah. Hm. The bag. He looks down at it, then shakes his head.]
No, that's alright. I'm using it to distract from the urge to scream myself hoarse in the water.
[This is Palamedes' third jaunt into the sea, and he fully intends for it to be the last. Barring some emergency that demands he do more swimming, clumsily and hating it the whole time, this is it - everyone else can enjoy the sea wrecks without him.
He's very determined about this, but in person he looks like if a drowned rat were a person, and he hasn't even gotten in the water yet. Oh, he's prepared now, physically - he knows what not to wear, what not to take with him, how to get down there as quickly as possible so as to not think about the journey too much, but emotionally? Just looking at the glittering water exhausts him.
He miserably removes his beloved yellow boots and passes them to his omen, a very large and very haughty-looking harpy eagle, who will not be joining them under the water, and then he looks miserably at Nara'a.]
What are you hoping to see down there? I'm going to pocket a few more relics, but it shouldn't take long.
[This is his grand offer of spending more time in the ocean... any interests in the sea, bud...]
[He understands being afraid of the water. The sea can be rough, even if it's calmer underneath the waves. And the sea is also unforgiving. He's lucky that he has his blessing that allows him to breathe underwater, and it's exciting that other people are getting to experience that, too.]
[But the sea is scary, because it doesn't care who lives or who dies.]
[He looks over at Palamedes, his own omen hopping off his shoulder and going to curl up near Pal's. The little lesser panda can do without getting his fur wet, thank you.]
I was hoping to see if I could find some more relics, and if I could maybe take some more video to show other people. I'm not familiar with the style of ships down there, but maybe someone else is.
[Now, Palamedes does not want to play a sport. This is just a fact: water is wet, they are all magic squid people now, Palamedes doesn't do great at physical activity. But he's given Jason his solemn word and he won't go back on that, and who knows - maybe, he will manage to have some fun, if he doesn't fall on his face and break it open. His face, that is. Completely.
That said, they are doing this in the Sanctuary's convalescent room that he had set up, but it's not like he even knows what a football is yet, so - no need for a field. Yet. The room is spacious enough for a little back and forth, featuring a few bunkbeds and a couch for resting, a table and chairs with games stacked on top, and an egregiously big hourglass that Palamedes dutifully turned over to start The Testing Hours some time ago. The hourglass is by the door, out of the way.
It's been a polite half hour-ish, for Resting, and so now Palamedes sticks his head in the room with a knock on the doorframe.]
Hi. If you're feeling fine and ordinary, I'm here about... a football lesson.
[Jason was trying to be good about testing that maybe-cursed talisman for Palamedes. Meaning that when he was supposed to sit and rest, he didn't pace around like he wanted to. But he hates sitting around doing nothing so he's been using the time to jot down training ideas or patrol schedules. Just something to keep himself busy.
He glances up, relieved to see Palamedes there]
Good. I'm ready to stretch my legs. Football is a team sport, but we can get the basics down with just the two of us.
The ball's about this big-- [He makes the shape with his hands]-- and looks kinda like a big almond. If you're an offensive player, you want to get the ball to your team's goal. If you're defensive, you want to stop the other team from scoring. that's the same in any sport. With me so far?
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viktor → how do you paleblood powers
He doesn't expect it, despite himself, when he settles down for the evening with Viktor, which here means tosses his book to the foot of their bed, drops his glasses on the nightstand, and rolls into Viktor's space to pepper him relentlessly with kisses all over his neck and shoulders until Viktor also welcomes Bedtime. Why should he expect a stress dream after this, a warm and blessedly peaceful evening reading in bed! That the past month has been a hassle, and the weeks ahead promise to be stressful in a pointedly different kind of way, and everything else about this city shouldn't guarantee the same stress dream from night to night, but...
Well, here they are. Or here Palamedes is, once he's dozed off into the dream, sitting in the sickroom at Canaan House and quite literally scratching at the wallpaper. Nothing happens here, he'd told Viktor months ago, and the same to Harrow months before that, and it's still true— the sickroom of his own making is alone, is separate, is without. Nothing happens. Time does not pass. Necromancy does not work.
Immediately, his skin crawls just sitting there, but getting up to move around the room isn't any better. He doesn't know what to do, there isn't anything to do, and Palamedes has never been incredibly good at waiting around for other people to do their part. Not to be unfair to Camilla, wherever she is out there, trying to solve the hardest puzzle of their lives, but he fucking hates waiting around for the end.
He paces for a while. He doesn't know how long.
He sits for a while, after that. Maybe hours pass.
He picks at the wallpaper, pulls off another piece, thinks about his stupid sequel to Marriage Season and leaves the scrap on the table.
For variety, he kicks one of the chairs over; nothing.
He doesn't know how long he does nothing. After maybe minutes or maybe years, something possesses him to look out the window; stupid, because nothing is out there, it's only a void, and the moon, and—
The moon? The fucking moon? Gears turn; something clicks. It doesn't make sense at all, but it's just jarring enough to shake him to lucidity and he wonders aloud, as he turns away from the window:]
Viktor?
[Because what else could this be? The moon is paleblood, and he sleeps smushed against a paleblood every night, it seems perfectly logical that if something is up in dreams, it's Viktor again, whether or not he's aware of it.
Which means— There's no telling how shattered he'll be if the next idea that comes to him returns nothing at all, but he owes it to himself to try, and it's not like Viktor has suddenly crawled out from under the table—
He crosses the sickroom to the door, the one that leads to more void. Void so thick it's tangible, a solid wall of nothing, stretching endlessly. Fingers close around the doorknob and his skin crawls again, a sick-dread feeling, like maybe he is better off just sitting in this nothingness for the next eternity if it means not having to face the reality of more nothing on the other side of this door—
He turns the knob, pulls the door open. Blinks at the scene beyond, and without looking back at the sickroom again, steps through into somewhere else.]
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stupid, he's aware it's not that simple. he's also riddled too often with a sinking mire of guilt at the audacity of thinking three square meals a day and fresh air are a trial to be passed. that he didn't have the choice to turn his back, or say no, or any number of things. that for all he wanted to help he'll always be a traitor in one way or another, and to pretend that pretty, gilded piltover where he chose to go could leave any scars-
it's usually a party like this. the ball room is suitably grand, people in masks, in gold and silver accents, walking the floor silently. his cane thuds with every step, and his clothes itch with how much they cost and how few times he'll use them again. he'll come to another party in a month and people will somehow remember he wore this before, and they'll look at him in pity or smug understanding that he does not belong.
sometimes he remembers jayce enough in his dreams of these parties to endlessly try to seek him out, glimpses of red and gold that vanish as quickly as they come. sometimes the spends the entire dream staring at a clock on the wall, watching its gears shift and clank in time with murmurs. he could listen in but there's no point in it, he knows the script. this party with it's grand, wasteful hourglass ticks down grains of sand, and when he wakes he can rightfully mock his own mind for the heavy-handed symbolism.
there's a flutter of something through the dream, that some edge of his thoughts recognizes as unnatural but his dreaming mind is quick to meld into the narrative. the midnight hour turns to golden evening, and hears a pair of women murmur about the new guest, the strange new guest. it makes him curious enough to glance through the crowd, a slow approach to what seems to be an entrance he didn't notice before and the gaggle of people surrounding it to get a better look.
(and enjoy viktor's dreaming mind warring against the idea of anyone wearing dull greys to this sort of thing, pal, trying to wrap him in something with strong lines and clean metallics, as if imparting obvious favoritism in a sea of gaudy colors and caricatures of luxury.)]
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just a moment—
to look over his shoulder at the door swinging shut behind him, but it closes definitively before he can see whatever he needs to see.
So: the party. Frankly, he didn't want to come to this, but his mother insisted, and what else is the "ambassador" title supposed to be for?, and rather than listen to her chuckle at him over his trim and tails, he just goes.
Something that must be rakishly funny comes out of his mouth as he looks back at the people surrounding him because most of them laugh, and he's not really paying attention to any one introduction as he nods at this mask or the other smile or this pair of fluttering lashes, no— he wants to... like, not be here. That'd be great.
It takes him a full minute to extricate himself from those guests thrilled about the new face, and he is shuffling away with his glasses off, rubbing them inelegantly on the hem of his shirt (which he has scandalously untucked for this purpose, call the guard) when he spots Viktor in his path. That is to say, he whips his glasses up in front of his face to check his polishing job so quickly that he nearly elbows Viktor in the head, first thing, on his approach.
The room kind of stutters for a moment, like everything shifts abruptly to the left and snaps back again before anyone can notice. Palamedes blinks and puts his glasses all the way on. Ah-]
Sorry— hi. Worst party I've ever seen.
[normal things for ambassadors to say]
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jun, falco → reading rainbow
It might seem - a little counterintuitive, that he's so eager to welcome Jun back to the Sanctuary and his office of too many bookshelves when Jun messages about an "interesting book" in somewhat uncertain terms, being another book, but! It's different and for fun, and so Palamedes considers it a great restful activity for taking a break.
(And if he suggested snacks and books at the Sanctuary to spare Jun having to ask, well, that's just his eminent consideration.)
He isn't anticipating two little dudes to turn up in the Sanctuary looking for him, though, so—]
Oh! I'll send for more snacks. [And then, gesturing for them to get in here,] Hi, come in, come in, pick a spot to sit.
[There are two big, egregiously comfy armchairs on this side of his desk, but there's also, like, the rug on the floor, he won't judge.]
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[Really, Falco was the one who discovered the fossils initially, so it makes sense to bring him.]
Hi. ... I don't know if you know each other, so just in case - Palamedes, this is Falco. Falco, this is Palamedes.
[He heads over to one of the chairs and takes out a thick book that seems to be about... fossils? It makes more sense when he starts pulling out chunks of rock with what look like old sea life fossils on them.]
I thought you'd find this stuff interesting.
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Hello, sir— Thank you for having me. [ oh, a chair! look how big and comfy they are! he's sure he can fit two of him in it side by side, and carefully makes his way, one foot, crutch, then the other foot, over to sand his spot and ret his legs. ] We found those, and some rocks in the caves by the beach.
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vi → first aid
So, he suggests the Sanctuary, and more specifically he suggests a back room just off the official infirmary, just so they aren't disturbing anyone's much-needed rest. It's better, now that the city has calmed down— more than a few locals have stopped by to politely apologize for how they've acted towards Sanctuary Sleepers out around town, and the infirmary is mercifully less full than it has been in times before, but - still. A nice and quiet back room.
He has brought supplies, which he has arranged on a table, and he has also brought. Well. Rio, Viktor's omen, because Rio likes him best and definitely anticipates lots of attention and maybe even an apple treat for playing this fun game.
Little does she know. Palamedes gestures at her magnanimously, to begin.]
Okay; here's our patient. Let's imagine she's just taken a nasty spill. What would you do first?
[Rio would like a pat on the head, but that's a trick, don't be fooled.]
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even if her recent experiences in the infirmary haven't all been pleasant, she has no misgivings about this. she's glad to be in a more sequestered area. it's quiet, she's learning something useful (perhaps sansa will be pleased she is doing this), she likes palamedes, and also she likes rio.
she looks over the carefully laid out supplies on the table with curiosity, possibly finding a name or a use at least for one or two, but drawing a blank otherwise.
first off, imagining rio taking a nasty spill produces an instant look of 'oh no' on vi's face. so the first thing, apparently, is 'make this face'. but on to step two.]
I'm gonna help her up, if she can get up. Can she get up?
[vi leans in, tries to slip an arm up and under rio, looking back at palamedes.]
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But not medically sound, and after a moment, Palamedes holds up a finger to wait, not unlike a schoolmarm. Ahem.]
Now, hold on; she's fallen. Before you move her at all, you ought to check what her injuries are.
[Presently, Rio bumps her big head into Vi's ear, which is totally helping. Palamedes tuts at her.]
Moving someone like this- [a gesture, this move here,] is a surefire way to put stress on the spine, which could already be injured.
In any case, the first thing to do is make sure she's conscious. [looking at rio, the worst actress....] Pretend you don't know.
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sansa → ghost therapy
So, Palamedes asks Sansa to come and try her luck talking to the girl. Specifically in Palamedes' doorless office, where all the wards are put down to allow the various Sanctuary ghosts to manifest visibly; the old man is, of course, enjoying his quiet time in his quiet corner, and Bethany (or, well, her doll) has gone upstairs into the loft to pout.
Palamedes gestures up, when Sansa arrives, and if she looks up in time she'll catch a glimpse of Bethany's ghostly round face peering over the loft railing before she darts out of sight again. The little spirit girl is maybe ten years old, babyfaced and with a head of tight curls, dressed in a simple ghostly peasant's dress. She's translucent— but thanks to Palamedes' wards, completely visible to any and all visitors.
Well, besides how she's sulking out of sight.]
Thanks for taking the time. She's upset, but I'm just— [her new dad, so obviously he won't get it. mmph.] At a loss.
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Oh, I should be very glad to see my good friend, Lady Bethany. We always have such a nice time talking; she has very interesting things to say.
[she smiles at pal, briefly conspiratorially, and then peers around, rising to her tiptoes with an expression of innocent concern.]
Bethany? I was hoping we could spend some time together. Lady is very much looking forward to it.
[lady perks up and pants obligingly.]
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That's my cue. Hold on a moment.
[He's tall, so he doesn't need to go all the way up the ladder to reach Bethany's doll 'body' and bring it back down, where he sets it on the arm of one of the two comfy armchairs not behind his desk. Once he's done that, Bethany's spirit manifests again from out of the doll, settling into the chair and spreading her hands over her plain skirt in her lap like a fine little lady (one who immediately begins to fidget with the hem of the skirt anyway, but like, she's trying).
She clears her throat, a chalky sort of noise, and Palamedes yet again obligingly moves aside, going to sit at his desk.
Bethany, in her wispy, ghostly voice, says,] Hello, ma'am.
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ortus → edible arrangements
He should? Ortus did him a solid, and he really did not have to, and why not excise a portion of his restless lingering anxiety into cutting fruit shapes.
Mostly, it's a basket of fruit that he produces. He doesn't think wasting a ton of fruits with his mediocre attempts to make skull shapes will go over well with Abigail, the Sanctuary cook, but she at least lets him have free reign over the fruit selection if he agrees to eat a few grapes. (Terrifying woman.)
So it is with an extremely quaint literal picnic basket filled with mostly whole fruits and, dotted around on the topmost layer, a bunch of apples artfully (not really) carved to look like jawless skulls that Palamedes sets out on his delivery quest. He's had the glasses fixed with some surprisingly elegant welding that he had nothing to do with, and he is not so grey these days, stomping around in his yellow boots and a dusky dusted cardigan, but he's made the effort to pick a tshirt with the most jawless-looking art deco skull on it, to show his solidarity and support.
It's a brand new day, etc, etc. Time for fruit. He knocks sharply, when he's arrived, and he waits. Does he know this is a place of business, or... whatever karate is? Yes, probably. But still. People are living here? One does not simply barge in.]
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He dabs his brow and slips into his black outer robe over the capacious training clothes (a 'gi', as he understands) he has been prevailed upon to accept before he goes to answer the door. He blinks up at the young Warden through a skull paint of a quality that Gideon Nav would be proud of, in its smudging, and tenders up a small but genuine smile.]
Master Warden.
[He does not bow or scrape, though the manner of his inclined nod and stepping aside to open the door to Palamedes is laden with respect beyond those tokens.]
My lady is in repose, and I believe Gideon to be on an errand of mysterious providence, but I am certain she will return soon. Please, make yourself welcome - I will bring you a cup of water, if you care to wait.
[Ever since learning of the pernicious impact of dehydration due to the irradiating orb above them, Ortus has been vigilant against its predations.]
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Ortus the Ninth.
[—And that, too, is pointed in an unspoken way. He is still Master Warden and Ortus is still Ninth, and neither of them need be fettered by, not to put too fine a point on it, bullshit politics. In the absence of politics he glances around the Karate Zone, as always lost in the realm of athleticism. Wack.
Anyway. First:] Water would be great, thanks.
[And, well, before the skull apples brown under their shield of plastic wrap, he holds up his basket offering.]
I came to see you, actually. With— fruit. Too much of it, but I didn't know the exact number of you all, here.
[His arm has been numb for several minutes, fruit is heavy. Please accept this.]
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nara'a → board games
It's not a very complex room, just one of the spare rooms they'd cleared out, converted into a resting room. Whatever this room was for at the monastery's inception it wasn't chilling and resting, because the room is a weird and kind of oblong shape, but it has plenty of room for a few bunkbed cots, a lumpy sofa, and a table with chairs. There are board games, a few books on a shelf by the table, and a comically large hourglass that counts down precisely one hour, stationed by the door.
That one can be ignored; that's for Palamedes' personal project.
In any case, this is the room Nara'a is recommended after a basic wellness check at the Sanctuary, with a probably not very good explanation of how this is the "waiting around to see if you're corrupted badly" room. Palamedes arrives some ten minutes later, knocking before he sticks his head in the door.]
—Hi. Did they explain this very badly? It's a convalescent center.
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[So he's come to Sanctuary to get a check-up - chirurgeons were always people he trusted implicitly. If nothing else, they're good people in his experience, so he trusts the ones at Sanctuary even if they're not chirurgeons by trade.]
[He looks up at Palamedes once he sticks his head in the room, a book in his hand. He closes it and smiles at the other.]
Maybe. They said to wait in here to check if I was corrupted...
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And right now, a little, when he says,] The ministers at the Lumenarium would have explained it better; they know my quirks by now.
["Wait in here to check" does kind of imply, like, that something will happen? But it's mostly a quiet place to rest and relax just in case something then happens.]
This was my idea, I thought— well, Lumenwood is already swimming in corruption from all the ministering, so you could say the idea was to not let that happen here. Overcrowding in the infirmary, and so on...
[He taps the side of the big hourglass, idly, squinting at it. Ah-]
I'm minimizing exposure to blood and other stressors, et cetera. With board games, generously donated. How are you feeling?
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Endwalker spoilers
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nico → sea walks
Not, of course, irredeemable enough to not go see the ships again; nah. But he still doesn't like it, which is why he's come to this particular sea walk meeting with Nico more prepared than before. Notably, he's found some additional cord to use to tighten the existing cord on his glasses such that they won't float off his face underwater - a real concern. He's also deigned to wear only one layer of funny skull t-shirt today, because the excess of cardigans really did him no favors the last time.
Also, he's brought a much larger bag with him to put stuff in. He meets Nico on the beach, close to the start of the glowing path, and he looks vaguely like a man heading off for his 50th battle in the trenches.
So the ocean experiences are going great. He nods at Nico in greeting, fiddling with the strap on his bag, and he says,] Ships are haunted.
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Yeah, the ocean holds a lot of emotions for him, too.
Nico is prepared to go under the water, to let himself sink down into the sea's embrace in order to explore the wreckage of ships. He's without his shoes, though still wearing socks to give him some protection, wearing a pair of thin black pants and a gray tank top (there's no sense of self-consciousness about the scars on his upper arms). Just to be easily spotted if they get separated. Then nothing but his sword at his side. It won't do to weigh them both down if there's trouble. ]
Yep. They usually are. [ He looks over at Palamedes fiddling with the bag. ] Want me to carry that?
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Ah. Hm. The bag. He looks down at it, then shakes his head.]
No, that's alright. I'm using it to distract from the urge to scream myself hoarse in the water.
[Is this a bit. Only kind of.]
Well, let's get this over with.
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nara'a → also sea walks
He's very determined about this, but in person he looks like if a drowned rat were a person, and he hasn't even gotten in the water yet. Oh, he's prepared now, physically - he knows what not to wear, what not to take with him, how to get down there as quickly as possible so as to not think about the journey too much, but emotionally? Just looking at the glittering water exhausts him.
He miserably removes his beloved yellow boots and passes them to his omen, a very large and very haughty-looking harpy eagle, who will not be joining them under the water, and then he looks miserably at Nara'a.]
What are you hoping to see down there? I'm going to pocket a few more relics, but it shouldn't take long.
[This is his grand offer of spending more time in the ocean... any interests in the sea, bud...]
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[But the sea is scary, because it doesn't care who lives or who dies.]
[He looks over at Palamedes, his own omen hopping off his shoulder and going to curl up near Pal's. The little lesser panda can do without getting his fur wet, thank you.]
I was hoping to see if I could find some more relics, and if I could maybe take some more video to show other people. I'm not familiar with the style of ships down there, but maybe someone else is.
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jason → peak athleticism
That said, they are doing this in the Sanctuary's convalescent room that he had set up, but it's not like he even knows what a football is yet, so - no need for a field. Yet. The room is spacious enough for a little back and forth, featuring a few bunkbeds and a couch for resting, a table and chairs with games stacked on top, and an egregiously big hourglass that Palamedes dutifully turned over to start The Testing Hours some time ago. The hourglass is by the door, out of the way.
It's been a polite half hour-ish, for Resting, and so now Palamedes sticks his head in the room with a knock on the doorframe.]
Hi. If you're feeling fine and ordinary, I'm here about... a football lesson.
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He glances up, relieved to see Palamedes there]
Good. I'm ready to stretch my legs. Football is a team sport, but we can get the basics down with just the two of us.
The ball's about this big-- [He makes the shape with his hands]-- and looks kinda like a big almond. If you're an offensive player, you want to get the ball to your team's goal. If you're defensive, you want to stop the other team from scoring. that's the same in any sport. With me so far?
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