Interlude
Xavarian's mind hadn't stopped swimming.
He had so much to focus on, and yet, despite all the practice he took with his Aether, despite the work he'd given the grimoire he'd been commissioned on, despite his nervous organizing and re-organizing of his room, and despite his wandering to places he'd gotten turned around at several times, his thoughts hadn't stopped their drifting to what he was trying to distract himself from. Why was he so nervous? Was it even really nervous that he was? But the thoughts just came back instead as what would she say? every time he tried to come up with an answer.
Strange trails of Aether went remarked upon, and several passing apologies were given throughout the night. Still, near the dawn he returned to the Inn.
Still, nothing.
But what could he expect through the night hours? It was a bit early for him to rest, but he was eager to do it. Perhaps that was what he needed to right his thoughts. Forcing himself to sleep wasn't all that difficult (especially for a thaumaturge) and he eventually drifted off after the unusually worrisome day.
____
The duskwight awoke slowly the next evening; the kind of slow coming to when you really don't want to wake up, where that dream you can only remember a part of and the feeling it gave seem like an excellent place to remain, and damn consciousness for sluggishly trying to drag you on. He laid in his bed for a while. His head re-hid itself under the covers. Though eventually he emerged from the cocoon of blankets, and he readied himself to exist out in the world.
He'd gotten a different elaborate undershirt, some pants, and long socks pulled on by the time he noted the.. note by the door. Lips pressed thin, and the temperature shot up immediately. The letter received a steady stare, and while the duskwight meant to stay still, as though the thing might leap up at him any moment, he couldn't help but shift a bit anxiously.
It took but a few moments for him to scramble over there, and nearly lunge at the letter, as though it might escape like a moth or a frog if he wasn't fast enough. The duskwight settled himself on the floor, wriggling around and took in a deep breath that caused him to momentarily sit up straight. He let it out. Then held it again, as he went to unfold the letter- but quickly remembered his scepter and practically flailed to scoot over to the table and grab it where he left it.
A few moments more were taken to locate the strap to hold the wand onto his arm. It hadn't moved from the spot he'd tossed it last morning; a chair he'd situated near the bed, just for the things he always tended to keep close to him. Xavarian plopped himself sitting back on the bed, and was briefly distracted by eying the arm in question. A hand ran over the spot where he tended to place the strap; all manner of odd, blotchy scars littered the arm, front and back, but that spot in particular seemed to have a strange, small 'ring' of a mark around it too. It was a weird sort of circular shape, like someone had pressed the rim of a glass hard to it. Lips were pressed together, but the duskwight seemed to generally ignore it, taking the strap, returning to the table, and sitting down at it to place the scepter on his arm, and fit the strap around them both. He blew hair out of his face as the heat and embers around him died down, and then scrambled back over to the spot on the floor, as though the letter had been waiting for his return.
The ritual of holding his breath repeated, once he'd wiggled into place, and he unfolded the letter now without fear of either freezing or scorching it.
At the very first line he already had a huge grin. She did want to be his friend. He hadn't overreached, hadn't been too bold to say he would be one to her. Words are tricky things, and he knows if it wasn't what she'd wanted to say, then she could easily reply with 'that wasn't meant for you' and it'd still make perfect sense all. He'd half expected it, really. Maybe even more than half. But he was quite glad he was wrong. The little sparks that jumped all over him abound as he continued to read. And soon, they were coupled with a steadily rising heat.
Blinks of surprise held as Xavarian read on. He read the letter over and over, covering his mouth at times, a grin hardly able to leave his features, though his brow was sometimes furrowed. Anxious? Contemplating? Certainly 'pleased' was in there somewhere. He found himself getting up and pacing with the page, a free hand running through his mess of hair, him nearly tripping over that chair once. The small room was wandered with barely audible tiny sounds he made to himself in the tumble of thoughts that came from the letter. This feeling. Was he reading this right? Was he?
"Hells~" He murmured to himself, a little laugh escaping soon after. "I-" He gestures, letter still in hand as though it were waiting for him to say something. What should he even say? What does he want to say? ... How in the hells is he even going to articulate it? And she wanted a story... Did she mean really? Or did she mean..? Could she mean..?
He noted how warm it was in the room now, how the sparks danced all along his arms, and how sometimes there would be this odd.. wave of Aether coming from him. It was a mess. The lines about the mess he and her have ran through his mind again, and he had to cover his face.
Pacing continued until the duskwight thought he was calm enough to write something down. Turns out, he wasn't; the paper got a large ink blot on it before Xavarian blurted out some amused expletives, and pushed it away. A second attempt after a few minutes resulted in the duskwight standing, turning away, and rubbing his face with both hands. He didn't know what to do. Maybe he just needs time. Like the hells this would leave his mind, he knew it, it would torment him until he figured it out, him out, them out.
But perhaps getting out this.. energy he felt might help it. Thoughts drifted towards seeing her, but - but no, he can't, not like this. He still wouldn't know what to say! And it doesn't work like that, does it?
By now the duskwight has already gotten the rest of his clothing on to head out, pulling on boots, messing around with his robes, and returns to the table with the letter. With no small amount of care for it, he slips the page into his tome, before heading abruptly out of the room soon after. His study was the first destination that came to mind, so that was where Xavarian went.
