Iphigenia's had another one of her nightmares, and so she's downstairs in the kitchen as well, sipping on some tea (oh, how the elves have rubbed off on her). When she sees Titus, she'll smile at him tiredly and nod.
"What are you doing up?" she asks. "Come here and sit by me. You look like you need company." She stifles a yawn. "I'm tired, but I can't sleep." She doesn't mention the dreams, and won't unless he asks.
He's a bit bleary-eyed himself, but he manages a small smile as he spies her and joins her at the table. "I hope that I did not disturb you: I've had a hard time sleeping tonight and so I came down to find something to refresh myself," he says.
He manages a small smile. "It might be easier to ask me what isn't the matter with me. I've had a rather unsettling time during the past few days.
"It started when I found a shelf of...books, with rather racy stories and poems in a discreet corner of the library," he says. "I got myself rather distracted by them, and I did not realize that someone was watching me, much less that the contents had...warmed my flesh, noticeably." He blushes and looks away as he admits to this.
She smiles a little. "I think that's normal, to feel embarrassed about that sort of thing. I know I would be if someone caught me reading something like that."
"Some who caught me that way were more understanding: one married woman even asked to read it, finding it amusing," he says, smiling a little at this. But growing serious again, he adds, "But some were not so accepting of this: my sister Fuschia was horrified and one older woman hit me with the book and told me that I was wasting my time. And a young man whom I know from Gormenghast taunted me for it."
"His name is Steerpike, I knew him only as an older man, in his thirties, but this appears to be a younger version of him," he replies, phrasing this carefully. He gave his word that he would not cause trouble for his enemy, but he's certainly not going to praise him either: he's trying to keep this as neutral as possible.
"Ahh, I see." His instinct is to warn her off the young man, but he stops himself. He gave his word that he would not stand in his natural brother's way, and calumniating him for what he hasn't yet done would likely fall under that head, since it would make the other's way harder. "I hope I do not seem too short when I speak of him: when I knew him, we did not get along well, but I suppose one cannot get along with everyone."
"When I knew him," he says, carefully emphasizing these words, "He served as the Master of the Ritual, and I suppose that because I despised performing the Ritual that was the life of the castle, that likely colored my opinion of him."
He only wishes it was that easy, but he's not about to let on in so many words. "I would hope this could be possible, but I doubt that it might come about," he says, wagging his head slightly. "I said some things to him, accused him of things he has not done, at least not here."
"What are you doing up?" she asks. "Come here and sit by me. You look like you need company." She stifles a yawn. "I'm tired, but I can't sleep." She doesn't mention the dreams, and won't unless he asks.
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"It started when I found a shelf of...books, with rather racy stories and poems in a discreet corner of the library," he says. "I got myself rather distracted by them, and I did not realize that someone was watching me, much less that the contents had...warmed my flesh, noticeably." He blushes and looks away as he admits to this.
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"In fact, I'd say we know each other fairly well."
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Iphi clearly has a solution to every problem.
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