"Hmmm." Gideon moves her glass around, watching the remains of her ice cube slide in slow circles. "There's not, like, always cavaliers. It's a special thing. Or, like, there are always people who are supposed to be cavaliers, but no one's actually been called on to do shit about it in centuries. Not on the Ninth, anyway. Until this year. The Myriadic Year of Our Lord, 10,000." She makes a face so he knows she hasn't forgotten they're pissed at God in this chat. "So--uh. I've mentioned the necromancers?"