Talking to jadebloods is like talking to psionics: it's a loaded gun, and whatever you do, you don't want to end up pulling the post-conscription trigger. Getting sent to the caverns, to go fondle larva eggs and cull grubs for bread, isn't quite as bad as getting shoved into a helmsman rig.
But it's not much better. Worse, in some ways, because psionics burn out fast. You've read the books Pheres's dug up for you, over the years, all the old helmsman records: maybe they last longer than ten or twenty sweeps now, but you doubt it.
They'd hatch a lot less of the fuckers, if that was the case.
"I guess you will." You clear your throat and let the conversation drift into silence: uncomfortable on your end, but maybe she just sees it as companionable, because she sounds perfectly unbothered when she speaks up, a few minutes later. "Are most brownblooded lusii that small?"
"Haah, yeah, they're a bunch of shrimps," you say, eager to jump on the digression. The conversation continues in that vein for awhile: you don't go out of your way to talk to greenbloods, but you always end up surprised at how little they know about other lowbloods.
At least your ignorance about greenbloods is excusable. There's only like, ten jadebloods in a cohort at any time, and what do olives have to their name? No psionics, no money, no strength, nothing at fucking all. And limes, of course...
Were limes ever even really a thing, or was that just one of those terms for cusps that fell out of favor? You can't remember, and that shows about how important they were. Are. Whatever.
The conversation's moved into a thoroughly boring direction. Marduk's going off onto a passionate tangent about laws and legislaceration, and you're just letting the words roll over you while you take in the scenery. The dank-ass river has stayed steadily to your left as her lusus leads you through the sewers, but it feels like the ground has steadily sloped down as you've walked in circles, and that's... a little weird.
You're still in the sewers. There's pipes all along the wall next to you, gray and damp and corroded with rusty patches along the joints. But the brickwork is getting strange, almost patchwork, and niches are starting to appear in the walls where it was smooth before. She said it'd take an hour to get down to the catacombs.
[the extent of sipara's interest in history is "did it happen to me"]
Talking to jadebloods is like talking to psionics: it's a loaded gun, and whatever you do, you don't want to end up pulling the post-conscription trigger. Getting sent to the caverns, to go fondle larva eggs and cull grubs for bread, isn't quite as bad as getting shoved into a helmsman rig.
But it's not much better. Worse, in some ways, because psionics burn out fast. You've read the books Pheres's dug up for you, over the years, all the old helmsman records: maybe they last longer than ten or twenty sweeps now, but you doubt it.
They'd hatch a lot less of the fuckers, if that was the case.
"I guess you will." You clear your throat and let the conversation drift into silence: uncomfortable on your end, but maybe she just sees it as companionable, because she sounds perfectly unbothered when she speaks up, a few minutes later. "Are most brownblooded lusii that small?"
"Haah, yeah, they're a bunch of shrimps," you say, eager to jump on the digression. The conversation continues in that vein for awhile: you don't go out of your way to talk to greenbloods, but you always end up surprised at how little they know about other lowbloods.
At least your ignorance about greenbloods is excusable. There's only like, ten jadebloods in a cohort at any time, and what do olives have to their name? No psionics, no money, no strength, nothing at fucking all. And limes, of course...
Were limes ever even really a thing, or was that just one of those terms for cusps that fell out of favor? You can't remember, and that shows about how important they were. Are. Whatever.
The conversation's moved into a thoroughly boring direction. Marduk's going off onto a passionate tangent about laws and legislaceration, and you're just letting the words roll over you while you take in the scenery. The dank-ass river has stayed steadily to your left as her lusus leads you through the sewers, but it feels like the ground has steadily sloped down as you've walked in circles, and that's... a little weird.
You're still in the sewers. There's pipes all along the wall next to you, gray and damp and corroded with rusty patches along the joints. But the brickwork is getting strange, almost patchwork, and niches are starting to appear in the walls where it was smooth before. She said it'd take an hour to get down to the catacombs.
You haven't been down here for an hour.
"Um," you interrupt, "where the fuck are we?"