He also tries very hard not to think about how all of his alts have killed someone. This time, he's not as successful. Edarial's not sure if Prime's killed someone before the fiasco that was finding him, so he might be absolved for that, but the other two certainly chose to. Neither of them regret it in the slightest. He knows this because he asked, quietly, privately. It was in the defense of their matching Bells. That's - he doesn't know how to feel about that. That's worrying.
Obviously, the solution is math. He asks both alts for their - mental numbers, the factors behind them, and then he scurries off to crunch his own and compare with what they have. Iobel didn't want to have a competition, but - this isn't that. He's comparing notes. If he's - likely to kill someone in defense of her, he'd like a heads up first.
Copious amounts of math is completed. Edarial is - kind of frightened by the results. He gets up, and he goes to find Iobel. Because according to Adarin-math, he is probably capable of killing people in her defense.
"Oh, he probably would find it incredibly personal. But you seem extremely curious about it."
"More or less only insofar as I want the space around the general territory mapped. I don't want to intrude on Prime, specifically, I want to - figure out Adarins, generally."
"Aha. Then - Cypress or Max are probably fine with answering all the questions you like. I am, too, but I thought that was obvious."
"I know. And I'd be doing more to - help, meet you halfway, something - if I knew what. I'm so fucking jealous of Ice and Phix -" She shakes her head again.
Edarial laughs a little. "I'm incredibly jealous of Cypress and Max. Less so of Max, but Cypress is just - flaunting, all the time. With his fancy magic and his perfect relationship and no actual personality traits to complain about without sounding hypocritical."
"Yes. That. Look at me, I'm Ice, I can resurrect the dead and my husband looks at me like I'm a deity and I get to snuggle his soul when I'm not cornering the economy of my entire planet or commanding my robot army."
It is careful and snuggly.
"Obviously," he murmurs, "the solution is to figure out how to resurrect the dead with spellbinding. And then we can corner the economy of the entire planet and make a robot army with the proceeds and technology from other planes, and after all that I'd be insane if I don't look at you like you're a deity."
"I'll help with it, of course. We have - forever to do it."
"Great. I hate deadlines."
"I never get things exactly the way I want them before I reach the deadline," he agrees.
"I don't think I'm a perfectionist in the same way, I just like having time to do other things, now and then. Psychological health maintenance."
She seems to want to keep being held, so - he'll keep doing that! Hair pet, hair pet.
Lean. Sigh.