( in order to try to understand and not merely comprehend what was being said, harrow stops thinking. it's not a simple or easy task — she has to almost cauterize the part of her mind that is constantly sifting sense from nonsense in what is already a brain of dubious status. she tears away her many layers of mistrust and paranoia and attempts to accept each word at face value.
so: ianthe tridentarius is a lyctor. as is herself, as it would seem. and — one other? had the Emperor's Hands dwindled so much? no, she can't think about that right now. she blinks slowly, realizing that gideon is waiting for her affirmation; she exhales in a hasty rush. )
Yes, yes — I promise I will refrain from operating upon the grey matter of my brain.
( which, in her impatience, seems normal enough to promise, but... well, she hasn't heard the whole story yet.
even racing as quickly as she can alongside the facts that are laid out, she begins to lag behind considerably. that there are apparently nine months separate between themselves (at the very least — she would have no way of knowing how many days, weeks, or months existed between the point of her being pulled into this place and when she had achieved lyctorhood) was relatively easy, despite the daunting implication. but it's around the time the "assassination attempt on the Emperor" and "planet revenants" are mentioned that harrow's brain almost stops working entirely, choked on morsels of information that it simply could not swallow as-is. she wants to incise into those now, but nav is still talking, and she forces herself to be patient. she regrets it, but she decides to set those sacrilegious mysteries aside for now, addressing the slanderous elephant in the hallway. )
I can assure you, Griddle, my mental facilities are just as they ever were. ( an observant listener would notice that she didn't actually claim there were cohesive or coherent — harrow is aware of her own questionable sanity, but she knows she isn't missing nine months of memories, and she is certainly no lyctor. ) Clearly, something else is at play. From my perspective, I had not yet left Canaan House, and we had also not yet discovered the truth of the Lyctoral formula. I went directly from the Ninth quarters, ( here she raises one finger and points to a nondescript point in the air in front of her, drawing it in a straight line to a similarly nondescript point, ) to here.
( i'm not saying there's time shenanigans afoot, but... there's time shenanigans afoot. )
no subject
so: ianthe tridentarius is a lyctor. as is herself, as it would seem. and — one other? had the Emperor's Hands dwindled so much? no, she can't think about that right now. she blinks slowly, realizing that gideon is waiting for her affirmation; she exhales in a hasty rush. )
Yes, yes — I promise I will refrain from operating upon the grey matter of my brain.
( which, in her impatience, seems normal enough to promise, but... well, she hasn't heard the whole story yet.
even racing as quickly as she can alongside the facts that are laid out, she begins to lag behind considerably. that there are apparently nine months separate between themselves (at the very least — she would have no way of knowing how many days, weeks, or months existed between the point of her being pulled into this place and when she had achieved lyctorhood) was relatively easy, despite the daunting implication. but it's around the time the "assassination attempt on the Emperor" and "planet revenants" are mentioned that harrow's brain almost stops working entirely, choked on morsels of information that it simply could not swallow as-is. she wants to incise into those now, but nav is still talking, and she forces herself to be patient. she regrets it, but she decides to set those sacrilegious mysteries aside for now, addressing the slanderous elephant in the hallway. )
I can assure you, Griddle, my mental facilities are just as they ever were. ( an observant listener would notice that she didn't actually claim there were cohesive or coherent — harrow is aware of her own questionable sanity, but she knows she isn't missing nine months of memories, and she is certainly no lyctor. ) Clearly, something else is at play. From my perspective, I had not yet left Canaan House, and we had also not yet discovered the truth of the Lyctoral formula. I went directly from the Ninth quarters, ( here she raises one finger and points to a nondescript point in the air in front of her, drawing it in a straight line to a similarly nondescript point, ) to here.
( i'm not saying there's time shenanigans afoot, but... there's time shenanigans afoot. )