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"Daud's spoken of me." It's the logical answer, and the one he perceives played out across her fingertips. She knows Daud, somehow. From somewhere that isn't here or the Isles. From somewhere the Void has never touched. But when had Daud been to such a place? After Jessamine, it was after Jessamine, after Delilah; something changed in the assassin, changed in the very way he moved through the world, in the experiences he carried. It'd been something more than the empress's death, though the Outsider had been unable to trace the source. It evaded him, somehow. Slipped from his hold the way nothing in the Isles could.
He'd gone somewhere. Met this woman. And of course Daud had mentioned the Outsider; his wayward Chosen has never stopped speaking or thinking of him. Never stopped blaming him, though it'd been Daud's own hand that felled the empress and so, so many others. The Outsider wonders what Daud's told this girl. Almost wonders what she sees in him, his Void-struck eyes, his presence here. So few have ever seen him. Really, she might count herself fortunate.
He doesn't expect that's the case. Given the anger she's flaring, the complicated spiral of feelings caught around her. Perhaps he'd spoken too far, but she's a puzzle, this one. So many unsettled pieces, so much to be stirred up at the lightest prick of a word. It's enticing. And he's never felt obliged to reign his curiosity in.
As far as home goes... It's an interesting notion, isn't it? Is home the Void? If that's the case, he's brought home with him, for he can feel the Void's energy around and through him. Is home the central chamber of the Void, the place his physical form remains frozen? No, no; that's more a tomb. A relic. If home's the Isles, then yes, the girl seems to speak true: he's come a long way, and even he can't say how.
He doesn't mind. Being here is not so different from being in the Isles. Only he's closer to the physical world, here. Only he can almost touch the world that in the Isles only ever shimmered beyond the Void.
He could touch her, maybe, if he wanted to. Feel the warmth of the blood beneath her skin, or come closer to it than he ever has before. Such a strange situation.
Look at those eyes of hers. So filled with fervor.
Such an interesting young woman.
"Yes. He would. How strange that such a man should speak to you. How strange that you should speak in kind, after everything you've witnessed. You've seen great harm. Seen the world fall before you. Cassandra, I wonder if you understand what you've gotten yourself into."
“Not in depth, no. But I know enough. Who you are, on the surface at least.” The bare bones; because she has no doubt that there are untold depths to the god floating on her roof. That has nothing to do with his godhood and everything to do with who he is. “I know your eyes. Have seen your Mark burned upon his hand.”
She can understand some of Daud’s frustration with his god, now, as well. Although she supposes you don’t need tact when you’re godly. (Or perhaps he’s simply never been around anyone long enough to remember what exactly it is.)
“With Daud? Yes. I do. I know what he’s done. Who he was.” Was. Was. A very important distinction that she doesn’t know if the Outsider sees. Noticed in his Chosen. (But he must have noticed something. He’s here, isn’t he.) Let alone understands. “I know who he is, as well. Who he’s becoming. Who he’s trying terribly hard to be.” She tilts her head, gazing up at Daud’s god with brilliant blue-grey eyes. Holding his gaze easily. “He’s better than he thinks he is. The man he was wouldn’t have cared for the broken young women he met upon a bridge late at night. Wouldn’t have concerned himself with a war of the gods. Wouldn’t have done quite a lot of things.” Wouldn’t have been so terribly torn apart by the one time he’d taken part in the arena.
“So yes. I understand exactly what I’ve gotten myself into.” Spoken with certainty. Her faith in Daud has never wavered. Will never waver. (She has more faith in him than she has in herself, most days.)
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He'd gone somewhere. Met this woman. And of course Daud had mentioned the Outsider; his wayward Chosen has never stopped speaking or thinking of him. Never stopped blaming him, though it'd been Daud's own hand that felled the empress and so, so many others. The Outsider wonders what Daud's told this girl. Almost wonders what she sees in him, his Void-struck eyes, his presence here. So few have ever seen him. Really, she might count herself fortunate.
He doesn't expect that's the case. Given the anger she's flaring, the complicated spiral of feelings caught around her. Perhaps he'd spoken too far, but she's a puzzle, this one. So many unsettled pieces, so much to be stirred up at the lightest prick of a word. It's enticing. And he's never felt obliged to reign his curiosity in.
As far as home goes... It's an interesting notion, isn't it? Is home the Void? If that's the case, he's brought home with him, for he can feel the Void's energy around and through him. Is home the central chamber of the Void, the place his physical form remains frozen? No, no; that's more a tomb. A relic. If home's the Isles, then yes, the girl seems to speak true: he's come a long way, and even he can't say how.
He doesn't mind. Being here is not so different from being in the Isles. Only he's closer to the physical world, here. Only he can almost touch the world that in the Isles only ever shimmered beyond the Void.
He could touch her, maybe, if he wanted to. Feel the warmth of the blood beneath her skin, or come closer to it than he ever has before. Such a strange situation.
Look at those eyes of hers. So filled with fervor.
Such an interesting young woman.
"Yes. He would. How strange that such a man should speak to you. How strange that you should speak in kind, after everything you've witnessed. You've seen great harm. Seen the world fall before you. Cassandra, I wonder if you understand what you've gotten yourself into."
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She can understand some of Daud’s frustration with his god, now, as well. Although she supposes you don’t need tact when you’re godly. (Or perhaps he’s simply never been around anyone long enough to remember what exactly it is.)
“With Daud? Yes. I do. I know what he’s done. Who he was.” Was. Was. A very important distinction that she doesn’t know if the Outsider sees. Noticed in his Chosen. (But he must have noticed something. He’s here, isn’t he.) Let alone understands. “I know who he is, as well. Who he’s becoming. Who he’s trying terribly hard to be.” She tilts her head, gazing up at Daud’s god with brilliant blue-grey eyes. Holding his gaze easily. “He’s better than he thinks he is. The man he was wouldn’t have cared for the broken young women he met upon a bridge late at night. Wouldn’t have concerned himself with a war of the gods. Wouldn’t have done quite a lot of things.” Wouldn’t have been so terribly torn apart by the one time he’d taken part in the arena.
“So yes. I understand exactly what I’ve gotten myself into.” Spoken with certainty. Her faith in Daud has never wavered. Will never waver. (She has more faith in him than she has in herself, most days.)