Work Text:
‘What’s this word?’
‘“Intractable”. It means “hard to deal with”.’
‘... Well, what about this one?’
‘“Incorrigible”. That means “something that cannot be changed”.’
‘... Paimon really doesn’t–’
‘“Inveterate”. It’s similar to incorrigible: “something unlikely to change”.’
‘Urgh! What’s the point of this!?’
‘You asked for my help. You wanted to read this book.’
‘Did not! Paimon did NOT ask!’
‘Would you like to stop, then?’
‘... Rrgh…’
‘Paimon.’
‘Stop talking! I’m trying to read!’
And so they dip back down into silence.
Paimon wears a look on her face of the greatest, angriest kind of concentration. She hovers over Alhaitham’s shoulder, leaning so close to the book that her nose nearly brushes the page. Alhaitham holds the green-spined book steady, dancing the fingers of his left hand over the side of his thigh, across his knee. He has long since finished reading, but he waits.
He waits for Paimon, letting her take her time.
After perhaps a dozen more minutes, Paimon suddenly gasps; it is the sound of all her held breath being flushed from her chest. She pulls away to touch a hand to her chest, red in the face, brows scrunched tight over the bridge of her nose.
Alhaitham turns his head to her, barely a twitch. ‘Do you understand?’
‘No! Of course Paimon doesn’t understand!’ She kicks her foot down through the air, swinging her balled-up fists. ‘Nobody can say all that! There’s no way you can say all that in just one breath!’
‘Is that why you weren’t breathing?’
‘Hey! Paimon’s asking the questions here!’
Alhaitham demurs. ‘Ask away.’
Yet her inquiries fail to pour out like a spigot or a waterfall. For once, Paimon looks deep in thought. She looks – well, she looks deep in angry thought. The passage from the book has compelled a deep irritation in her, and the activity of reading is a difficult one. Pair that with her typical lack of patience and it is a great feat that she has stuck with this.
‘What is that guy even saying?’ she spouts eventually. She crosses her arms, tucking her chin close to her shoulder. ‘That’s too many words.’
‘What do you suppose he might be saying?’ Alhaitham bats back.
‘Paimon! Is asking! The questions!’ she reiterates, each syllable a violent slap.
‘Oh. Of course.’
‘... ‘cause,’ says Paimon, not too much later, ‘All it sounded like was… he was… mad at Shahrad, and… he thought he was being stupid. And stubborn.’
‘Shahrad is quite stubborn,’ replies Alhaitham. He regards Paimon further; when she catches his eye, she scowls and quickly looks away. ‘They’re childhood friends. Mardin is angry at Shahrad for what he wants to do. Why do you think that is?’
‘Are you kidding me?’ lambasts Paimon, voice rising several octaves. ‘Shahrad is about to go into that big cave! That cave with all the scorpions inside! Mardin is the smart one here. He doesn’t want to go in. There’s not even any treasure!’
‘Then why should Shahrad want to go inside?’
Paimon scoffs derisively. ‘He thinks Mariyeh might be in there. But there’s no tracks or blood, right? He’s just going with his gut. Which is stupid. They skipped dinner when they went to bed last night!’
Surprisingly enough, Alhaitham does not have another question or observation ready. He is quiet, and he is quiet for long enough that Paimon ducks toward his face, watching him suspiciously.
‘Hey. Alhaitham. Call Paimon dumb already…’
The faraway look clears from his eye, and Alhaitham meets Paimon’s gaze. He shifts on the chaise and turns back a few pages in the book. ‘You’re not dumb. Actually, I was considering what you just said.’
Paimon’s suspicion does not waver. ‘... And?’
‘There was no mention of them eating. You’re right,’ he says. He points to a few lines, and Paimon floats back over to see where he’s gesturing. ‘They offer their prayers to the Dendro Archon and go to sleep. On my initial read, I didn’t find it remarkable.’
‘But they skipped dinner!’ Paimon protests. ‘You can’t go find your friend on an empty stomach! You’ll die!’
‘It is impossible to know every thought behind the author’s choice of words,’ Alhaitham continues, unperturbed, ‘And in fictional accounts, it is quite regular for a writer to forgo mentioning tasks of daily maintenance. For example, relieving oneself, eating, or drinking. But given Writer Parsa’s proclivity for including the most mundane of details… you may actually have a point.’
Holding the side of her head, Paimon emits a groan, droning low from her chest like the sound of a locust. ‘Nngh… too many words…’
She shuts her eyes, and thus Paimon misses Alhaitham’s brief flash of a smile. It is just as well; had she caught it, she might have thought him demeaning her. Instead, all she hears is his summary comment: ‘You caught something very subtle.’
Paimon blinks her eyes open again, and asks, confused and fatigued: ‘Is that a good thing?’
‘It’s a very smart thing.’
‘... Are you calling Paimon smart?’
‘What you just did was very smart. Yes.’
So that is all Paimon needs to be reinvigorated with life. Her shoulders stop slumping and her spine stops bowing. She shoots up several centimetres with a tiny jump for joy, quick to lay both her hands on her hips and adopt a pose of superiority. ‘Hmph! Obviously! Paimon’s a pro at reading!’
‘You have a surprising eye for detail,’ Alhaitham remarks. ‘And that is true for many things.’
‘Right?’ Paimon nods several times, pleased as punch. ‘Right? Where would the Traveller be without me? Hehe, did you know? Paimon rescued them from the Electro Archon one time!’
‘Hm. Really.’
‘Uh-huh! And Paimon does lots of other things for them! And…’ she trails off.
Alhaitham flips to the next page of their book. After a moment, Paimon giggles.
‘You’re finally getting the picture,’ praises Paimon.
‘And what about your stories?’ Alhaitham prods.
‘After this! Paimon wants to find out why Shahrad is so stupid!’
‘Alright.’
Their fictional journey continues.