The thought-of duskwight was pacing. Â The kind of pacing that's only just brief, between two fancies, when you think of something to accomplish, rise to do it, and one thought's replaced in stride by something else entirely. Â What were you doing? Â Pacing, apparently. Â Or so was Xavarian's answer to that question, when he heard someone walking outside his door. Â
With hearing as excruciatingly keen as his, he'd always had the mind to pay attention to anyone moving outside doors. Â Because being locked behind one so long, it had almost become like a game of guesses and mind-made tales. Â What are they doing? Â Where are they going? Â What state are they in, by their steps, can he tell? Â What had they just returned from? Â Rivers of possibilities would rush in and flood his mind, in the several second passing of whomever it may be outside his door. Â And of course, the ever present question; Were they there for him? Â ... Should he be ready to fight, to hide, or to welcome?
Almost always, it never got that far. Â So much was it rare that anyone came for him that it was more an idle ritual to muse about than any real alert, more fun to imagine than worry to prepare for.
But not this time.
This time the steps came closer. Â They stopped outside. Â Xavarian furrowed his brows in his mid-thought pacing, and now the door had his attention. Â He was looking at the space beneath it, in fact, to see how the light from outside played with the shadows of whomever was standing there. Â It would tell him a bit about their size, at least. Â He hadn't noticed how he'd frozen, both in ceased movement, and the air around him, as the temperature dropped to a harsh cold.
The note that slid under the door nearly made him jump out of his skin and freeze the floor over. Â
He heard the steps moving away then, soft, unimposing, amidst whatever various ruckus he heard from the nearby rooms, (likely ruckus he often tried hard to ignore) and  back down the hall.  With a blink, it took him a moment to process maybe he should have looked to see who it was. Â
"Hells-" Â Well, too late for that now. Â Time to see what that was about.
And so, a number of transitions began. Â Apprehension very quickly became intense curiosity, as the duskwight silently made his way over to the letter on his floor. Â Frost became heat and pursed lips became grins and sparks as he read the note.
Oh. Â Oh.
---
Despite all the trouble, he's still not lost his smirk. Â Finding places. Never his strong suit. Â But it never fell short of a small journey. Â After he'd written something of his own, he'd left the room and started wandering about the inn... only to remember he didn't actually know if Avis had a room at the inn. Â Maybe. Â Did he know that? Â This required a stop in the middle of the hallway, which eventually became a seat pressed against one side of it, when some less cognitive, more alcohol filled patrons came stumbling by. Â So he read his notes. Â At some point, he realized he had stood and started walking while reading his notes, as though he actually knew where he was going. Â
He didn't. Â
He found himself at the inn's entrance into the Drowning Wench, and, well, he certainly didn't want to stay there. Â When the innkeep opened the gate, he, as per usual, made with haste to slide himself nervously around the edges of the bar, out into the open night air of the port city. Â He walked a ways out to find a nice quiet spot where he could see the ocean. Â ... Until he remembered he wasn't actually there to watch the ocean. Â He wasn't actually there for anything, what in the hells was he doing?
With a snort, the duskwight headed back towards the Drowning Wench, repeating his almost ritualistic ilming around the bar walls, before finding himself in front of the Innkeep again. Â The man always seemed rather jovial, and that time was no different. Â If anything, he likely found amusement in the duskwight's tendancy to always skitter along the walls like a mortified house pet.
"Ah-"  The duskwight paused.  What was he doing? Â
"Lost?" Â The innkeep just smiled. Â It's a joke, but this guy always seems to look somewhat lost, and he really couldn't help it.
"Oh- er, n-" Â Xavarian paused again. Â "Not.. exactly. Â Maybe. Â Actually, could you tell me if one by the name of Avis has a room here? Â She would be about this tall-" Â A gesture was made, indicating the stature of the woman. Â "Hyur, dark hair, curious disposition..?"
It wasn't without some laughter, raunchy implications, lots of stuttering, some huffs, flaring embers, and a few 'calm down, buddy's later that Xavarian was wandering through the halls again with his answer. Â Then he just had to find the place. Â
It had certainly been a journey.
But as it was, all manner of hall searching later, he'd done it. Â A smirk of triumph was allowed for a victory he considered none too small. Â He'd found it in the same night even! Â This was definitely something to be proud of.
An unsigned 'note' on an interesting grade of paper, near translucent, in which the swirling grains could be seen, was slipped under the door for Avis. Â The page was too sturdy to be folded well, but it was placed face down. Â With a dorky grin, the somewhat excited duskwight then, quickly and quietly with a half 'running through the house' sort of pace, escaped the scene of the .. note.
What a nerd.
With hearing as excruciatingly keen as his, he'd always had the mind to pay attention to anyone moving outside doors. Â Because being locked behind one so long, it had almost become like a game of guesses and mind-made tales. Â What are they doing? Â Where are they going? Â What state are they in, by their steps, can he tell? Â What had they just returned from? Â Rivers of possibilities would rush in and flood his mind, in the several second passing of whomever it may be outside his door. Â And of course, the ever present question; Were they there for him? Â ... Should he be ready to fight, to hide, or to welcome?
Almost always, it never got that far. Â So much was it rare that anyone came for him that it was more an idle ritual to muse about than any real alert, more fun to imagine than worry to prepare for.
But not this time.
This time the steps came closer. Â They stopped outside. Â Xavarian furrowed his brows in his mid-thought pacing, and now the door had his attention. Â He was looking at the space beneath it, in fact, to see how the light from outside played with the shadows of whomever was standing there. Â It would tell him a bit about their size, at least. Â He hadn't noticed how he'd frozen, both in ceased movement, and the air around him, as the temperature dropped to a harsh cold.
The note that slid under the door nearly made him jump out of his skin and freeze the floor over. Â
He heard the steps moving away then, soft, unimposing, amidst whatever various ruckus he heard from the nearby rooms, (likely ruckus he often tried hard to ignore) and  back down the hall.  With a blink, it took him a moment to process maybe he should have looked to see who it was. Â
"Hells-" Â Well, too late for that now. Â Time to see what that was about.
And so, a number of transitions began. Â Apprehension very quickly became intense curiosity, as the duskwight silently made his way over to the letter on his floor. Â Frost became heat and pursed lips became grins and sparks as he read the note.
Oh. Â Oh.
---
Despite all the trouble, he's still not lost his smirk. Â Finding places. Never his strong suit. Â But it never fell short of a small journey. Â After he'd written something of his own, he'd left the room and started wandering about the inn... only to remember he didn't actually know if Avis had a room at the inn. Â Maybe. Â Did he know that? Â This required a stop in the middle of the hallway, which eventually became a seat pressed against one side of it, when some less cognitive, more alcohol filled patrons came stumbling by. Â So he read his notes. Â At some point, he realized he had stood and started walking while reading his notes, as though he actually knew where he was going. Â
He didn't. Â
He found himself at the inn's entrance into the Drowning Wench, and, well, he certainly didn't want to stay there. Â When the innkeep opened the gate, he, as per usual, made with haste to slide himself nervously around the edges of the bar, out into the open night air of the port city. Â He walked a ways out to find a nice quiet spot where he could see the ocean. Â ... Until he remembered he wasn't actually there to watch the ocean. Â He wasn't actually there for anything, what in the hells was he doing?
With a snort, the duskwight headed back towards the Drowning Wench, repeating his almost ritualistic ilming around the bar walls, before finding himself in front of the Innkeep again. Â The man always seemed rather jovial, and that time was no different. Â If anything, he likely found amusement in the duskwight's tendancy to always skitter along the walls like a mortified house pet.
"Ah-"  The duskwight paused.  What was he doing? Â
"Lost?" Â The innkeep just smiled. Â It's a joke, but this guy always seems to look somewhat lost, and he really couldn't help it.
"Oh- er, n-" Â Xavarian paused again. Â "Not.. exactly. Â Maybe. Â Actually, could you tell me if one by the name of Avis has a room here? Â She would be about this tall-" Â A gesture was made, indicating the stature of the woman. Â "Hyur, dark hair, curious disposition..?"
It wasn't without some laughter, raunchy implications, lots of stuttering, some huffs, flaring embers, and a few 'calm down, buddy's later that Xavarian was wandering through the halls again with his answer. Â Then he just had to find the place. Â
It had certainly been a journey.
But as it was, all manner of hall searching later, he'd done it. Â A smirk of triumph was allowed for a victory he considered none too small. Â He'd found it in the same night even! Â This was definitely something to be proud of.
An unsigned 'note' on an interesting grade of paper, near translucent, in which the swirling grains could be seen, was slipped under the door for Avis. Â The page was too sturdy to be folded well, but it was placed face down. Â With a dorky grin, the somewhat excited duskwight then, quickly and quietly with a half 'running through the house' sort of pace, escaped the scene of the .. note.
What a nerd.
