[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.]
[There was a time when being referred to by such a hallowed title would have made Ortus blush in shame, muster up demuring objections and references to the true holder of the name, of his unworthiness to even be briefly granted it in her stead. That time is past. He takes, instead, the unspoken point, and he does not even blush at it.
He does still move at once to take the basket, cradling it gingerly and with brows raised in undisguised amazement at the heft of it.]
None will go to waste.
[He peers inside, and seeing the skulls, a gentle, touched awe flits across his expression. It is not a grand gesture on behalf of the heir of the Sixth, and therein, Ortus thinks, lies its power.]
Necromancers prevailed upon to act as porters. These are strange climes in which we find ourselves. [Or: he is impressed, once again.] Please, sit. I will return shortly.
[Ortus bustles off to the room he cannot precisely call a kitchen, though it contains many of the component parts, to store the bulk of the fruit and fetch a water glass. When he returns, he bears a cup of lightly chilled water and a plate of carved skull apples, and settles on whichever low wooden bench Palamedes has appointed himself on. Training dummies dot the room, which smells of sweat and dust, but is still more wholesome than the shut up halls of the Ninth. He wonders if the scrubbed air of the Sixth is at all alike.]
I am glad to see you well. [He sets the glass down within Palamedes' reach, alongside the plate situated so they both may share it, if he chooses to join in the repast.] As I should have said from the start.
[Palamedes' instant relief upon no longer holding the basket is overt and palpable, and he rubs at his tingling arm as he settles himself somewhat awkwardly on one of those low benches. Awkwardly primarily for how he's not sure how polite it is to just stick his gangly legs out into this room, for truly the mysteries of The Dojo are myriad and deep.
Like, he does it anyway, and if anyone trips over him it will shatter his femurs before it impacts a real athlete in the slightest, so that's fine.]
Well, you know, strange climes, [he says upon Ortus' return, taking up the cup of water with a brief and slightly wan smile. Yes, strange climes indeed, but delivering fruit is better than some other things he can think of.] But thanks. It looks like this place has been treating you well, too.
[The dojo, specifically. It smells, but he's not going to diss someone's new refuge because it smells funny.]
Let's get this part over with: I can't ever repay you for looking out for me out there on the water, but frankly, it's pretty ghoulish to reduce acts of kindness to debts owed. So— I'm not doing that. Make no mistake, the fruit's partly a 'thank you,' but more than that: I thought you might like it.
[In conclusion, thanks, but it doesn't have to be a whole thing. Interpersonal politics are also canceled.]
[The bulk of sadness that usually clings to Ortus seems lightened. Without its weight, he seems to inhabit more space than he once did, and to do so with greater ease. When he smiles softly at Palamedes' remarks, it is without any cringe of anxiety or rivulet of supplication. They are simply two men sitting on a rough bench in a dojo whose rules number only three, and have no prohibition against the stretching of limbs in any whichaway.]
It has been.
As for that - I have little head for the accounting of debts. [He has no particular skill at sums in general.] I am glad of what I did, and would do it again - and I believe that you would do the same for myself, or any of the Ninth, or indeed, most people of this world.
[He clasps his hands together in a gesture too tentative to produce any sound so vigorous as a clap, but it signals all the same: that's that, then. No ghoulishness indulged, at least for the time being, Ortus picks up one of the carved apples and examines it more closely.]
I do like it. It is a clever thought to use the flesh of the fruit in this manner. Perhaps I may entice Lady Harrowhark to sample an apple with mimicry of your artistry. [He is utterly sincere, which may be the worst part.] ...they both are recovering yet, but they will be well. To forestall inquiry.
[Ha ha, but there's no bite or genuine taunt in that; if it came to it, yes, he should be so privileged to step in in the defense of the Ninth or the other people here. He takes a sip of the water and leans his other hand on the bench, posture a fraction more casual now that the possibility of ghoulish social debts is out of the way.
His jawless skull apples are, like, definitely those? But a master carver of anything he is not, let alone fruits. They're a little janky, but they got the spirit.]
That's good. I spoke to them both, in the not-so-immediate aftermath. [Well, as much as Gideon's glee about shaped mochi and Harrow's Only One Question might seem inadequate to someone else, Palamedes knows both of those brief exchanges were, hm, leagues above the worst case for both of those girls. He did speak to them, and it was a relief; so is Ortus' word now.]
Now, I'm not an artist, so don't mimic my efforts too closely. You have me beat on the nuanced details, anyway.
[ Privately, Ortus doubts there is much that makes anyone from the Sixth House blush. Knowledge and openness seem to be inoculations against such responses, which may be why his own House relies on paint in their stead. ]
We shall see, though I am sure you are more dexterous than myself.
[ Most people are. He has always had a disconnect between mind and body more pronounced than his peers - although: a box caught readily, without thought - hands no longer quite so clumsy - but those are matters outside of his concern for now. He takes a small, cautious bite of one skull, and shields his mouth with his other hand as he chews, startled as he still sometimes is by the profusion of flavor. ]
But let us not linger on that. [ Since he seeks no reassurance, and indeed feels little about it beyond observance of a likelihood. ] All else aside - I am curious, Warden, as to what your future may hold.
I ask not only in idle musing. Much has changed, and much has come to light. We find ourselves people of an Empire with no Emperor worthy of the name. [ Softly said, but - quite a statement, from these quarters. ] I suppose I would know, since you have had more time to contemplate this state of affairs [ and more sense to do so early ] - what course do you chart for yourself, in this aftermath?
Or, more colloquially - what have you been 'up to'?
[Palamedes sips his water with slightly more gusto, to stop his expression from doing anything he doesn't want it to do while he has to sit here and listen to the words 'Empire' and 'Emperor'. He knows, of course, that Ortus is past the point of blind fealty, so it's not that, but— ugh. Just ugh; he's sick and tired of having to muddle through bullshit about Emperor this and 'oh no we have to remain vigilant' that— do they? Do they, really?
He doesn't say anything. Ortus' vigilance remains with the Ninth, this is plain, and so he need not tell Ortus something obvious like "engaging is dangerous." It's been a long couple weeks, in that regard.
Instead, he hums, drumming his fingers on the side of the glass.]
The people here, the locals, deserve better than what we've been giving them; I'm starting there. I think; it's already been started, but I'm contributing. I spend mornings in the Lumenarium and afternoons at the Sanctuary; volleyball is three days per week at the orphanage...
[He shrugs; these are the things that keep him busy, but as a whole package,] This is it for me, I think, and I don't mean that as fatalist as it sounds. I won't leave this place without Viktor, barring a brief jaunt to go pick up Cam and the rest of the Sixth if the opportunity arises, so— what I'm up to is putting down roots, here.
[He raises his glass in mock-toast, for quitting imperialism and doing a little treason by enjoying it. Hooray.]
[ From a House so immersed in its past, it is something to see one so fixed to its future. Ortus does not know if 'refreshing' is the word, precisely, as it seems an understatement, but it may be the sweet water of the fruit on his tongue that leads him to the choice. ]
A sensible choice.
[ Another prosaic word, 'sensible'. He chooses this one deliberately over 'wise' or 'well-thought'. It suits the Warden more, in his bright yellow boots fit for the weather, his determined trek to bring them a thing of as much practical as sentimental value. ]
I would not call it fatalism. You do resign yourself to an unhappy future. [ Another careful bite, measured chew. ] Many make lives of more meaning for themselves in places not of their origin.
[ He will follow the example set. He elides the past as well. ]
How did you come to choose these tasks, and not any others? Were these occupations of the Master Warden of the Sixth, or are they the choosing of Palamedes Sextus of Trench?
[As a rule, he doesn't sit around wallowing in despair, so— 'difficult' it is. He shrugs, because the rest of that point is true; much as he cherishes the Sixth, and despite his completely true claim that he would pick them all up in a heartbeat and move them elsewhere, to be anywhere but within the demesne of Dominicus - that's not yet an option, and so: this. Meaning, in a place fundamentally without the vestiges of his House.
It's a living. Or, well, it is now, in a way it was not many months ago, which makes Ortus' question one he does have to think about, for a moment.]
Hmm. Both? It's not as if I became Master Warden by chance. As Warden, I'm responsible for the livelihood of the Sixth; that's true. But if I'm going to see my people again, I'm not going to face them with nothing but negligence for these people behind me. That's hardly appropriate for someone in my position.
[Or anybody with basic human decency, but that's just obvious. Still - the obligations of the Master Warden of the Sixth and the self-imposed duties of Palamedes Sextus of Trench are more or less the same, he thinks. Thematically.
It does occur to him that the privilege of holding a position he actually wanted is, ah, not universal. If he's correct in his assumption that Ortus' separation of Warden and Sextus is some kind of natural conclusion, that they are separate.]
If we're talking decision-making specificity: I wanted to contribute.
[ Ortus nods, accepting the suggested alteration. Difficulty is a state that may be navigated. Difficulty is a state he is familiar with, but never without unhappiness inextricably coupled to it, and he wonders at their separation. It is exactly the sort of wondering that has him here, still adjusting to the taste of apples. ]
I have never taken on the burden of responsibility before. [ He says it with only wistfulness, not quite shame, a clear-eyed self-comprehension that is for once, not tinged in reproach. ] When people spoke or wrote of it as a privilege, I did not understand, for all I saw was how it might break those who bore it.
But I see you, and Viktor, and others like you both, and I believe I begin to understand. To care for others, to act in service of their needs...to contribute, wherever you may be, however you can. Perhaps that is part of what it is to make meaning for oneself.
[ He smiles, slightly, but not so slightly as he usually does. With light self-deprecation, given his only just spoken musings: ]
If you ever require something heavy moved on your behalf, may I offer myself to be called on to do so, if no others are at hand?
I will always accept heavy lifting as an act of friendship.
[As a necromancer and overall stickbug, of course. Sure, the darkbood powerset allows him to manipulate gravity sometimes, but then Viktor makes faces about unnecessary bloodletting, which is a point? So: yes.
And, hm.]
I doubt responsibility feels like a privilege when it's assigned, and not claimed. Not that wanting something makes you immune to breaking, but, you know.
[It does help.]
Viktor likes to pretend he's a crochety recluse, but one of the very first things he ever told me he dreamed of inventing was public water filtration. [That softy, good god, he's going to wife guy all over the place, ahem-] But don't get me wrong— it's not all contributions to the common welfare, and so on. You get weekends off for personal hobbies.
Evidently, assisting in such activities is of great benefit to my ‘gains’.
[ Ortus does not air quote. One as skilled as he is in the art of articulation need not do so in order to convey a delicate apprehension of the concept. He does wave his hand lightly, with a tinge of embarrassment, at the distinction between assigned and claimed. ]
I believe that perhaps a responsibility may be what you make of it.
[ But still. When he considers it, he has both: his duty to Harrowhark, assigned to him at her birth, and his duty to Gideon, claimed by him here, in the wake of all that had happened to her. He has found strength in both of them beyond what he could have once imagined.
Viktor is, as ever, a diverting and pleasant topic. Ortus smiles at the public water filtration, thinking of a gangly boy and his little boat, his immediate desire to be of help to another lonely creature. Crotchety, indeed. ]
I am not surprised. He is over modest, I think.
And did you know there is a ballad about the weekend? It is what everyone is working for, according to the singer. It is a time of romance, and also dancing. I am relieved to hear it may be used for other activities.
[Admittedly, 'weekends off' is not a concept he's indulged in before this place, but he can almost see why someone would write a ballad about it, if they perhaps didn't enjoy their job...? Or only had romance and dancing a mere twice a week, which is just pitiable.]
Well, let me know when you have some weekend activities planned that go better with friends; we'll make the time. Viktor, too.
[How pleasantly ordinary, to make plans that don't involve urgency or violence or danger. Maybe he'll learn a few more apple carving shapes for next time, purely to celebrate the existence of next times.
[ Ortus sighs. It is the closest to a return to form he's come for the course of the conversation, a long-suffering release of held back feeling poured out as artistically as a Third House tea ceremony. He has been welcomed to this dojo. That does not mean he has not also developed opinions. ]
The concept seems related to the development of musculature and physical skill. According to the Sensei Lawrence and Gideon, however, it also entails what I can only assume are ritualistic invocations of a sort of primitive attraction based superstition.
[ He picks up another skull apple and takes a more assertive bite, distracted by a montage of haunting images and refrains as he looks into the middle distance. ]
When I asked if these rituals had ever proven efficacious, I was assured that it had, and yet despite both the Sensei and Gideon engaging in 'curls for the girls' on a near daily basis, I have not noticed an increase in the number of girls in the vicinity, although Gideon assures me that I have only just missed them on multiple occasions.
To abbreviate several discussions - apparently it is the 'cooler' way to describe my attempt to become more proficient in the martial aspect of my duties, and I am grateful that the other promised benefits do not show signs of manifesting in reality.
[ He cares deeply for Gideon, but if he had to fill out a secret ballot specifying whether or not he believed her claims of being 'neck deep in babes', he would regretfully have to mark an X in the tally box next to doubt. ]
As a related matter - do not allow them to offer you food in return, Palamedes. Their ideas of what is a wholesome diet supportive of a healthy body are, frankly, disturbing.
[ 'Palamedes', not 'Warden', a bridge crossed without him quite realizing. ]
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no subject
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.]
no subject
He does still move at once to take the basket, cradling it gingerly and with brows raised in undisguised amazement at the heft of it.]
None will go to waste.
[He peers inside, and seeing the skulls, a gentle, touched awe flits across his expression. It is not a grand gesture on behalf of the heir of the Sixth, and therein, Ortus thinks, lies its power.]
Necromancers prevailed upon to act as porters. These are strange climes in which we find ourselves. [Or: he is impressed, once again.] Please, sit. I will return shortly.
[Ortus bustles off to the room he cannot precisely call a kitchen, though it contains many of the component parts, to store the bulk of the fruit and fetch a water glass. When he returns, he bears a cup of lightly chilled water and a plate of carved skull apples, and settles on whichever low wooden bench Palamedes has appointed himself on. Training dummies dot the room, which smells of sweat and dust, but is still more wholesome than the shut up halls of the Ninth. He wonders if the scrubbed air of the Sixth is at all alike.]
I am glad to see you well. [He sets the glass down within Palamedes' reach, alongside the plate situated so they both may share it, if he chooses to join in the repast.] As I should have said from the start.
no subject
Like, he does it anyway, and if anyone trips over him it will shatter his femurs before it impacts a real athlete in the slightest, so that's fine.]
Well, you know, strange climes, [he says upon Ortus' return, taking up the cup of water with a brief and slightly wan smile. Yes, strange climes indeed, but delivering fruit is better than some other things he can think of.] But thanks. It looks like this place has been treating you well, too.
[The dojo, specifically. It smells, but he's not going to diss someone's new refuge because it smells funny.]
Let's get this part over with: I can't ever repay you for looking out for me out there on the water, but frankly, it's pretty ghoulish to reduce acts of kindness to debts owed. So— I'm not doing that. Make no mistake, the fruit's partly a 'thank you,' but more than that: I thought you might like it.
[In conclusion, thanks, but it doesn't have to be a whole thing. Interpersonal politics are also canceled.]
no subject
It has been.
As for that - I have little head for the accounting of debts. [He has no particular skill at sums in general.] I am glad of what I did, and would do it again - and I believe that you would do the same for myself, or any of the Ninth, or indeed, most people of this world.
[He clasps his hands together in a gesture too tentative to produce any sound so vigorous as a clap, but it signals all the same: that's that, then. No ghoulishness indulged, at least for the time being, Ortus picks up one of the carved apples and examines it more closely.]
I do like it. It is a clever thought to use the flesh of the fruit in this manner. Perhaps I may entice Lady Harrowhark to sample an apple with mimicry of your artistry. [He is utterly sincere, which may be the worst part.] ...they both are recovering yet, but they will be well. To forestall inquiry.
no subject
[Ha ha, but there's no bite or genuine taunt in that; if it came to it, yes, he should be so privileged to step in in the defense of the Ninth or the other people here. He takes a sip of the water and leans his other hand on the bench, posture a fraction more casual now that the possibility of ghoulish social debts is out of the way.
His jawless skull apples are, like, definitely those? But a master carver of anything he is not, let alone fruits. They're a little janky, but they got the spirit.]
That's good. I spoke to them both, in the not-so-immediate aftermath. [Well, as much as Gideon's glee about shaped mochi and Harrow's Only One Question might seem inadequate to someone else, Palamedes knows both of those brief exchanges were, hm, leagues above the worst case for both of those girls. He did speak to them, and it was a relief; so is Ortus' word now.]
Now, I'm not an artist, so don't mimic my efforts too closely. You have me beat on the nuanced details, anyway.
no subject
We shall see, though I am sure you are more dexterous than myself.
[ Most people are. He has always had a disconnect between mind and body more pronounced than his peers - although: a box caught readily, without thought - hands no longer quite so clumsy - but those are matters outside of his concern for now. He takes a small, cautious bite of one skull, and shields his mouth with his other hand as he chews, startled as he still sometimes is by the profusion of flavor. ]
But let us not linger on that. [ Since he seeks no reassurance, and indeed feels little about it beyond observance of a likelihood. ] All else aside - I am curious, Warden, as to what your future may hold.
I ask not only in idle musing. Much has changed, and much has come to light. We find ourselves people of an Empire with no Emperor worthy of the name. [ Softly said, but - quite a statement, from these quarters. ] I suppose I would know, since you have had more time to contemplate this state of affairs [ and more sense to do so early ] - what course do you chart for yourself, in this aftermath?
Or, more colloquially - what have you been 'up to'?
no subject
He doesn't say anything. Ortus' vigilance remains with the Ninth, this is plain, and so he need not tell Ortus something obvious like "engaging is dangerous." It's been a long couple weeks, in that regard.
Instead, he hums, drumming his fingers on the side of the glass.]
The people here, the locals, deserve better than what we've been giving them; I'm starting there. I think; it's already been started, but I'm contributing. I spend mornings in the Lumenarium and afternoons at the Sanctuary; volleyball is three days per week at the orphanage...
[He shrugs; these are the things that keep him busy, but as a whole package,] This is it for me, I think, and I don't mean that as fatalist as it sounds. I won't leave this place without Viktor, barring a brief jaunt to go pick up Cam and the rest of the Sixth if the opportunity arises, so— what I'm up to is putting down roots, here.
[He raises his glass in mock-toast, for quitting imperialism and doing a little treason by enjoying it. Hooray.]
I'm moving on; he never liked me, anyway.
no subject
A sensible choice.
[ Another prosaic word, 'sensible'. He chooses this one deliberately over 'wise' or 'well-thought'. It suits the Warden more, in his bright yellow boots fit for the weather, his determined trek to bring them a thing of as much practical as sentimental value. ]
I would not call it fatalism. You do resign yourself to an unhappy future. [ Another careful bite, measured chew. ] Many make lives of more meaning for themselves in places not of their origin.
[ He will follow the example set. He elides the past as well. ]
How did you come to choose these tasks, and not any others? Were these occupations of the Master Warden of the Sixth, or are they the choosing of Palamedes Sextus of Trench?
no subject
[As a rule, he doesn't sit around wallowing in despair, so— 'difficult' it is. He shrugs, because the rest of that point is true; much as he cherishes the Sixth, and despite his completely true claim that he would pick them all up in a heartbeat and move them elsewhere, to be anywhere but within the demesne of Dominicus - that's not yet an option, and so: this. Meaning, in a place fundamentally without the vestiges of his House.
It's a living. Or, well, it is now, in a way it was not many months ago, which makes Ortus' question one he does have to think about, for a moment.]
Hmm. Both? It's not as if I became Master Warden by chance. As Warden, I'm responsible for the livelihood of the Sixth; that's true. But if I'm going to see my people again, I'm not going to face them with nothing but negligence for these people behind me. That's hardly appropriate for someone in my position.
[Or anybody with basic human decency, but that's just obvious. Still - the obligations of the Master Warden of the Sixth and the self-imposed duties of Palamedes Sextus of Trench are more or less the same, he thinks. Thematically.
It does occur to him that the privilege of holding a position he actually wanted is, ah, not universal. If he's correct in his assumption that Ortus' separation of Warden and Sextus is some kind of natural conclusion, that they are separate.]
If we're talking decision-making specificity: I wanted to contribute.
no subject
[ Ortus nods, accepting the suggested alteration. Difficulty is a state that may be navigated. Difficulty is a state he is familiar with, but never without unhappiness inextricably coupled to it, and he wonders at their separation. It is exactly the sort of wondering that has him here, still adjusting to the taste of apples. ]
I have never taken on the burden of responsibility before. [ He says it with only wistfulness, not quite shame, a clear-eyed self-comprehension that is for once, not tinged in reproach. ] When people spoke or wrote of it as a privilege, I did not understand, for all I saw was how it might break those who bore it.
But I see you, and Viktor, and others like you both, and I believe I begin to understand. To care for others, to act in service of their needs...to contribute, wherever you may be, however you can. Perhaps that is part of what it is to make meaning for oneself.
[ He smiles, slightly, but not so slightly as he usually does. With light self-deprecation, given his only just spoken musings: ]
If you ever require something heavy moved on your behalf, may I offer myself to be called on to do so, if no others are at hand?
no subject
[As a necromancer and overall stickbug, of course. Sure, the darkbood powerset allows him to manipulate gravity sometimes, but then Viktor makes faces about unnecessary bloodletting, which is a point? So: yes.
And, hm.]
I doubt responsibility feels like a privilege when it's assigned, and not claimed. Not that wanting something makes you immune to breaking, but, you know.
[It does help.]
Viktor likes to pretend he's a crochety recluse, but one of the very first things he ever told me he dreamed of inventing was public water filtration. [That softy, good god, he's going to wife guy all over the place, ahem-] But don't get me wrong— it's not all contributions to the common welfare, and so on. You get weekends off for personal hobbies.
[It's advice, but it's also a joke.]
no subject
[ Ortus does not air quote. One as skilled as he is in the art of articulation need not do so in order to convey a delicate apprehension of the concept. He does wave his hand lightly, with a tinge of embarrassment, at the distinction between assigned and claimed. ]
I believe that perhaps a responsibility may be what you make of it.
[ But still. When he considers it, he has both: his duty to Harrowhark, assigned to him at her birth, and his duty to Gideon, claimed by him here, in the wake of all that had happened to her. He has found strength in both of them beyond what he could have once imagined.
Viktor is, as ever, a diverting and pleasant topic. Ortus smiles at the public water filtration, thinking of a gangly boy and his little boat, his immediate desire to be of help to another lonely creature. Crotchety, indeed. ]
I am not surprised. He is over modest, I think.
And did you know there is a ballad about the weekend? It is what everyone is working for, according to the singer. It is a time of romance, and also dancing. I am relieved to hear it may be used for other activities.
no subject
[Admittedly, 'weekends off' is not a concept he's indulged in before this place, but he can almost see why someone would write a ballad about it, if they perhaps didn't enjoy their job...? Or only had romance and dancing a mere twice a week, which is just pitiable.]
Well, let me know when you have some weekend activities planned that go better with friends; we'll make the time. Viktor, too.
[How pleasantly ordinary, to make plans that don't involve urgency or violence or danger. Maybe he'll learn a few more apple carving shapes for next time, purely to celebrate the existence of next times.
...And.]
I have to ask: what are 'gains,' in this context?
no subject
The concept seems related to the development of musculature and physical skill. According to the Sensei Lawrence and Gideon, however, it also entails what I can only assume are ritualistic invocations of a sort of primitive attraction based superstition.
[ He picks up another skull apple and takes a more assertive bite, distracted by a montage of haunting images and refrains as he looks into the middle distance. ]
When I asked if these rituals had ever proven efficacious, I was assured that it had, and yet despite both the Sensei and Gideon engaging in 'curls for the girls' on a near daily basis, I have not noticed an increase in the number of girls in the vicinity, although Gideon assures me that I have only just missed them on multiple occasions.
To abbreviate several discussions - apparently it is the 'cooler' way to describe my attempt to become more proficient in the martial aspect of my duties, and I am grateful that the other promised benefits do not show signs of manifesting in reality.
[ He cares deeply for Gideon, but if he had to fill out a secret ballot specifying whether or not he believed her claims of being 'neck deep in babes', he would regretfully have to mark an X in the tally box next to doubt. ]
As a related matter - do not allow them to offer you food in return, Palamedes. Their ideas of what is a wholesome diet supportive of a healthy body are, frankly, disturbing.
[ 'Palamedes', not 'Warden', a bridge crossed without him quite realizing. ]