M
Muirgen
Guest
Original poster
Imogen did not understand at all, why the Captain seemed so suddenly willing to forget all about sending her off to see to Alisdair, much less forgiving of her presence when he'd ordered her off already! But the moment he took Malcolm's hand, the Captain seemed to become almost... Amiable. If she did not know so much better, she might very well have agreed with him, that the Captain 'doesn't seem so bad.'
She watched curiously, this strange, miniscule dance of the near-imperceptible, all hanging on a hair's breadth in a single handshake. Imogen could not help but wonder if the Captain felt the callouses on Malcolm's hand as she had, and in return? What was it that Malcolm felt in the Captain's grip? She had never touched the Captain's hand with her own - what must that feel like? What callouses and sweating lines, what heat or anemic cold was in the Captain's palm?
Malcolm knew.
Somehow, some way, Malcolm knew. She could see it. Imogen knew Malcolm, and though she did not understand, she could see there was an... Exchange. Something happening between the two men on a level she simply could not see, even with her preternaturally powerful eyesight. And when the men parted ways, her grey-eyed gaze followed after the Captain for some moments, wondering what in the world she had just witnessed. How intriguing, her new friend Malcolm was! He was kind, and unafraid to speak with her, and he shared music with her as well! Imogen smiled sweetly as she turned to Malcolm, who seemed so positively at ease.
"I must tend to Alisdair this morning. He is not... Not feeling well." This was truth, though not all of it of course. All the truth, she could not tell; Alisdair's orders forbade her. If Malcolm pressed her further, she must lapse into silence whether she would or no. She hoped he would not press - Imogen had no wish to not speak with Malcolm, and so she continued on blithely.
"After he feels well again, he may or may not wish me to attend meetings with him today, though this day I think not. The future Duchess will be arriving this afternoon, and he often leaves me aside when she visits. If he does not give me orders otherwise, I should have a night free to myself." Imogen hoped dearly that Alisdair would leave her no orders - surely she could see about a dinner for Malcolm, if she did not! Malcolm, her strange, mysterious - and only - friend...
"What did you do to the Captain, Malcolm?" There was absolutely no note of accusation or anger in the tone of her voice. And despite the ratcheting of the pain receptors in her head to the point her entire body began to tremble almost imperceptibly, there was nothing else of note in her voice but the uncomplicated and curious innocence of a child. Imogen had absolutely no idea a droplet of blood had begun to form and fall, ever-so-slowly, from her nose.
She watched curiously, this strange, miniscule dance of the near-imperceptible, all hanging on a hair's breadth in a single handshake. Imogen could not help but wonder if the Captain felt the callouses on Malcolm's hand as she had, and in return? What was it that Malcolm felt in the Captain's grip? She had never touched the Captain's hand with her own - what must that feel like? What callouses and sweating lines, what heat or anemic cold was in the Captain's palm?
Malcolm knew.
Somehow, some way, Malcolm knew. She could see it. Imogen knew Malcolm, and though she did not understand, she could see there was an... Exchange. Something happening between the two men on a level she simply could not see, even with her preternaturally powerful eyesight. And when the men parted ways, her grey-eyed gaze followed after the Captain for some moments, wondering what in the world she had just witnessed. How intriguing, her new friend Malcolm was! He was kind, and unafraid to speak with her, and he shared music with her as well! Imogen smiled sweetly as she turned to Malcolm, who seemed so positively at ease.
"I must tend to Alisdair this morning. He is not... Not feeling well." This was truth, though not all of it of course. All the truth, she could not tell; Alisdair's orders forbade her. If Malcolm pressed her further, she must lapse into silence whether she would or no. She hoped he would not press - Imogen had no wish to not speak with Malcolm, and so she continued on blithely.
"After he feels well again, he may or may not wish me to attend meetings with him today, though this day I think not. The future Duchess will be arriving this afternoon, and he often leaves me aside when she visits. If he does not give me orders otherwise, I should have a night free to myself." Imogen hoped dearly that Alisdair would leave her no orders - surely she could see about a dinner for Malcolm, if she did not! Malcolm, her strange, mysterious - and only - friend...
"What did you do to the Captain, Malcolm?" There was absolutely no note of accusation or anger in the tone of her voice. And despite the ratcheting of the pain receptors in her head to the point her entire body began to tremble almost imperceptibly, there was nothing else of note in her voice but the uncomplicated and curious innocence of a child. Imogen had absolutely no idea a droplet of blood had begun to form and fall, ever-so-slowly, from her nose.