Her fingers tighten around the edges of her delicate glass, almost hard enough to shatter that fragile vessel. She imagines shards embedded in her palm, in Augustine's eye.
"John is friendly to everyone. I think it comes from a pathological need to be liked." Mercy says it flippantly, airily. God's fists and gestures are the only people who can critique him so coolly, who could even dream of insulting him even as they love and worship him in the same breath. (Or do they? Do they still? Sometimes she finds herself wondering. Do you love the sun, or are you simply too accustomed to living beneath its warmth, to having it power the solar system in the background?)
She watches the Emperor as he makes his rounds, cheerfully chatting to the other Lyctors. She should tear herself away from this chaise, remove herself from Augustine's orbit and him from hers, but for a disorienting moment she can't actually think of a preferred alternative, and so realises that she would rather be here. Small-talk is everywhere. Pleasantries are everywhere. Frothy insubstantial conversation is everywhere.
At least with the Saint of Patience, she can be brutally honest.
"Anyway, if you try to drown me in the River, I'm taking you with me."
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"John is friendly to everyone. I think it comes from a pathological need to be liked." Mercy says it flippantly, airily. God's fists and gestures are the only people who can critique him so coolly, who could even dream of insulting him even as they love and worship him in the same breath. (Or do they? Do they still? Sometimes she finds herself wondering. Do you love the sun, or are you simply too accustomed to living beneath its warmth, to having it power the solar system in the background?)
She watches the Emperor as he makes his rounds, cheerfully chatting to the other Lyctors. She should tear herself away from this chaise, remove herself from Augustine's orbit and him from hers, but for a disorienting moment she can't actually think of a preferred alternative, and so realises that she would rather be here. Small-talk is everywhere. Pleasantries are everywhere. Frothy insubstantial conversation is everywhere.
At least with the Saint of Patience, she can be brutally honest.
"Anyway, if you try to drown me in the River, I'm taking you with me."