Xavarian's pre-slumber rhyme hadn't helped, or perhaps it should have been uttered again before they'd parted ways inside the inn. For in the morning Avis found herself dragged into consciousness by the abrupt cessation of yet another dream of Ul'dah. It hadn't been an especially unpleasant or vivid dream - indeed, she could recall little about it almost moments after, as she sat up in bed and rubbed sleep out of her eyes; it was simply the sort in which one pursued the fleeing visions endlessly, wondering what the hell happened, who did what, and why - why - why this need to remember. Something old, once again. Something from a very young age that she once loved. Though she could not put into any concrete detail what this memory was, its scent lingered.Â
She rose sluggishly, sliding out from beneath the sheets only to find that a mildly alarming quantity of sand lay in her bed. Brow furrowed, Avis brushed them absently onto the floor, pulling salt-stiffened hair out of her face with her other hand. Another part of her mind began fighting for dominion over the one lost in the fruitless search for old things. Her lips curved into a half smile, she looked instinctively towards the door and -
There they were. Letters.Â
She picked them up carefully from where they lay, brushing any dirt or sand that lay on them off, and padded back excitedly to her bed with the two precious items. She drew her feet up to her chest as she read, back against the wall, and in so doing restored more specks of sand to their undesirable occupation of her sheets.Â
Mirth and amusement lit up her features as she read them both. He had fallen hard - though, in truth, so had she, perhaps. She'd needed little persuasion towards the end, though Xavarian had intended none of it, probably did not anticipate or realize the effects of his words on her. In a span of conversations they had tumbled into Something, she knew not what it was, only it wasn't exactly the torrid passion she was used to feeling, it was a wry, quieter fondness whose strength she could not yet discern.Â
Then she found a Word in the letter, and it all came back to her.Â
A bath and some perfunctory sweeping of all the sand into a corner of the room later, Avis found her mind clear enough to write. There was a good deal of hesitation towards the end of her letter, and her quill hovered above the paper (Xavarian's, of course) for a few long minutes as she considered briefly the implications of being accountable. But she wrote it in anyway with a smile.Â
When she locked her room and strode down the hallway to Xavarian's room, she was fully decked out for a journey - well, as fully decked out as was usual for Avis, of course, she always travelled light. Grimoire, notebook, money, water, gemstone. Check. She was dressed in the long ink blue ensemble that she'd received a few compliments on, the only one that carried any indication that she might, after all, have the aesthetic inclinations of the gentry.Â
Before she slid the letter under his door, she touched it to her lips without self-consciousness, a hidden message that even Xavarian would not be able to find. Then she left, and if any regret for their misaligned hours existed, it was not to be clearly gleaned from the odd tune she hummed under her breath.Â
She rose sluggishly, sliding out from beneath the sheets only to find that a mildly alarming quantity of sand lay in her bed. Brow furrowed, Avis brushed them absently onto the floor, pulling salt-stiffened hair out of her face with her other hand. Another part of her mind began fighting for dominion over the one lost in the fruitless search for old things. Her lips curved into a half smile, she looked instinctively towards the door and -
There they were. Letters.Â
She picked them up carefully from where they lay, brushing any dirt or sand that lay on them off, and padded back excitedly to her bed with the two precious items. She drew her feet up to her chest as she read, back against the wall, and in so doing restored more specks of sand to their undesirable occupation of her sheets.Â
Mirth and amusement lit up her features as she read them both. He had fallen hard - though, in truth, so had she, perhaps. She'd needed little persuasion towards the end, though Xavarian had intended none of it, probably did not anticipate or realize the effects of his words on her. In a span of conversations they had tumbled into Something, she knew not what it was, only it wasn't exactly the torrid passion she was used to feeling, it was a wry, quieter fondness whose strength she could not yet discern.Â
Then she found a Word in the letter, and it all came back to her.Â
***
A bath and some perfunctory sweeping of all the sand into a corner of the room later, Avis found her mind clear enough to write. There was a good deal of hesitation towards the end of her letter, and her quill hovered above the paper (Xavarian's, of course) for a few long minutes as she considered briefly the implications of being accountable. But she wrote it in anyway with a smile.Â
When she locked her room and strode down the hallway to Xavarian's room, she was fully decked out for a journey - well, as fully decked out as was usual for Avis, of course, she always travelled light. Grimoire, notebook, money, water, gemstone. Check. She was dressed in the long ink blue ensemble that she'd received a few compliments on, the only one that carried any indication that she might, after all, have the aesthetic inclinations of the gentry.Â
Before she slid the letter under his door, she touched it to her lips without self-consciousness, a hidden message that even Xavarian would not be able to find. Then she left, and if any regret for their misaligned hours existed, it was not to be clearly gleaned from the odd tune she hummed under her breath.Â
[sub]Avis Inkwood | Qara Qalli
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