Xavarian was, in fact, still in his room. He'd not expected a reply so soon, but then again, he was never one for expecting much at all. That made everything just a bit more exciting, and a bit less disappointing.
He'd been busy organizing what little was left here. When someone moves, even just part-way, there's always the strange dissonance between the new room and the old; one more bereft of things than the other. And Xavarian had the need to organize them, all the things left behind, even though there weren't that many. Yet. ...Maybe. Imagine what he could do with more space.
Beyond that, there was also the careful matter of dividing what he had between two places. Which location would be best for what thing? He'd never much thought of it, not since he had moved his workspace elsewhere from the inn room; the two places, where one worked, and where one stayed, as far as he remembered, were usually one in the same. Even if it may have been many different rooms overall.
Focused, he hadn't thought much of the steps outside the door he heard this time. He heard them, of course, but sorting out these remaining papers into the remaining scroll cases was the last thing he needed to do before heading out, and it had most of his attention. ... Until he heard the steps stop at his door.
The duskwight probably should have expected a note to be slipped under the door, considering what had happened earlier in the night. He probably shouldn't have needed to freeze, yet again, beyond slooowly turning around to look, once more, at the space under his door for the light shining through in the dark room.
But he didn't, he did, and again, the floor froze over when the page slipped through.
The duskwight snorted. At himself for being so jumpy, mostly. The man ran a hand through his living mess of hair as though it would help keep it out of his face (which it didn't, of course), at first somewhat embarrassed despite no one being present, but that was all the time he needed for his mild alarm to be replaced with an excited grin. The floor thawed with warmth, the papers were down, and he was up with one swift motion as he made way to wander over, sock-footed and soundless, to the little note that was left.
Xavarian unceremoniously plopped himself down right there on the floor to pick the note up and look it over. This was exciting, he'd really never had an exchange quite like this before. No one would ever know what in the hells he would be going on about if he even dared to try anything like it down Below. Of course, he learned to enjoy that, to some extent. There was, of course the Sylphs who'd always liked his riddles, but that was never by letter, only by mouth. He couldn't help but smirk at the parchment scraps these had been written on too; the first already tucked nicely into his elaborate tome, where he tried to place everything important that can fit in there. There was something charming about them, like an afterthought, which in many ways, can be more thought-provoking than a forethought.
But his expression changed somewhat upon what he read. A strange sort of concern crept over his features, creased with a furrowed brow, and lips pursed in the anticipation of one who wants to speak, but doesn't want to interrupt. He can't help but glance up at the door when he's done reading, though the shadows that crept through the cracks were gone. He knew he'd heard her leave. He pursed his lips a different way.
The scrap of parchment was read several more times on the floor, another while rising and wandering to the table, and once more when the scribe sat, pulling out his pen, and freeing a larger sheet from his stacks of yet-to-be-scrollcased paper. He set the little note carefully to the upper left of his page, and then quickly started writing, scrawling, really, mouthing some things silently as the pen jittered.
___
When he was done, there was all manner of decisiveness to his steps. He was out the door and down the hall without apprehension. ... Then, after an about-face, he was down the right hall without apprehension.
Giving Avis' door a once-over, as though it was standing between him and something important, he pursed his lips again. Briefly looked down at his much longer sheet, another translucent, swirling page, and slid it, face down, under the door.
The writing remained immaculate, but something about it seemed.. quick, and with feeling. Perhaps it was the elongated, whip-like flourishes, or the slightly harder pressed first letters of lines.
Xavarian lingered for a moment, after the page was delivered, looking down at the floor with a hand over his mouth in thought. There were many ways what he wrote could be taken. How would Avis decide to piece it together? She seemed rather perceptive, certainly clever and full of whimsy, but also didn't seem able to read him. 'Seem' being the main word there, of course. Giving up on his concerned contemplation of the floorboards to any passers by, he let out a breath, blew some hair from his face, and went back to finish his organizing before heading out for the night. That didn't keep his thoughts from continuing on about it though.
He'd been busy organizing what little was left here. When someone moves, even just part-way, there's always the strange dissonance between the new room and the old; one more bereft of things than the other. And Xavarian had the need to organize them, all the things left behind, even though there weren't that many. Yet. ...Maybe. Imagine what he could do with more space.
Beyond that, there was also the careful matter of dividing what he had between two places. Which location would be best for what thing? He'd never much thought of it, not since he had moved his workspace elsewhere from the inn room; the two places, where one worked, and where one stayed, as far as he remembered, were usually one in the same. Even if it may have been many different rooms overall.
Focused, he hadn't thought much of the steps outside the door he heard this time. He heard them, of course, but sorting out these remaining papers into the remaining scroll cases was the last thing he needed to do before heading out, and it had most of his attention. ... Until he heard the steps stop at his door.
The duskwight probably should have expected a note to be slipped under the door, considering what had happened earlier in the night. He probably shouldn't have needed to freeze, yet again, beyond slooowly turning around to look, once more, at the space under his door for the light shining through in the dark room.
But he didn't, he did, and again, the floor froze over when the page slipped through.
The duskwight snorted. At himself for being so jumpy, mostly. The man ran a hand through his living mess of hair as though it would help keep it out of his face (which it didn't, of course), at first somewhat embarrassed despite no one being present, but that was all the time he needed for his mild alarm to be replaced with an excited grin. The floor thawed with warmth, the papers were down, and he was up with one swift motion as he made way to wander over, sock-footed and soundless, to the little note that was left.
Xavarian unceremoniously plopped himself down right there on the floor to pick the note up and look it over. This was exciting, he'd really never had an exchange quite like this before. No one would ever know what in the hells he would be going on about if he even dared to try anything like it down Below. Of course, he learned to enjoy that, to some extent. There was, of course the Sylphs who'd always liked his riddles, but that was never by letter, only by mouth. He couldn't help but smirk at the parchment scraps these had been written on too; the first already tucked nicely into his elaborate tome, where he tried to place everything important that can fit in there. There was something charming about them, like an afterthought, which in many ways, can be more thought-provoking than a forethought.
But his expression changed somewhat upon what he read. A strange sort of concern crept over his features, creased with a furrowed brow, and lips pursed in the anticipation of one who wants to speak, but doesn't want to interrupt. He can't help but glance up at the door when he's done reading, though the shadows that crept through the cracks were gone. He knew he'd heard her leave. He pursed his lips a different way.
The scrap of parchment was read several more times on the floor, another while rising and wandering to the table, and once more when the scribe sat, pulling out his pen, and freeing a larger sheet from his stacks of yet-to-be-scrollcased paper. He set the little note carefully to the upper left of his page, and then quickly started writing, scrawling, really, mouthing some things silently as the pen jittered.
___
When he was done, there was all manner of decisiveness to his steps. He was out the door and down the hall without apprehension. ... Then, after an about-face, he was down the right hall without apprehension.
Giving Avis' door a once-over, as though it was standing between him and something important, he pursed his lips again. Briefly looked down at his much longer sheet, another translucent, swirling page, and slid it, face down, under the door.
The writing remained immaculate, but something about it seemed.. quick, and with feeling. Perhaps it was the elongated, whip-like flourishes, or the slightly harder pressed first letters of lines.
Xavarian lingered for a moment, after the page was delivered, looking down at the floor with a hand over his mouth in thought. There were many ways what he wrote could be taken. How would Avis decide to piece it together? She seemed rather perceptive, certainly clever and full of whimsy, but also didn't seem able to read him. 'Seem' being the main word there, of course. Giving up on his concerned contemplation of the floorboards to any passers by, he let out a breath, blew some hair from his face, and went back to finish his organizing before heading out for the night. That didn't keep his thoughts from continuing on about it though.
