Avis had found herself frowning slightly in the direction of a bookshelf (for here the bookshelves never managed to keep out of your way) after Xavarian left, in his usual bustle of robes and papers. She'd managed to break out of it after a moment or two, returning to the tiny chair in which she'd dozed and been caught dozing (again), and turning a page or two of lengthy descriptions of amorous caresses before she realized she wasn't really focusing anymore. She had lost the reading thread somewhere along the way, and knew it would not return for some time.Â
So she rose and went to the bookstore attendant, sliding that drool-marked copy of U'naanza Jhin's Taking the Thief across the counter. The novel fetched a hefty price, which Avis winced at, but it would not do, in vain she had struggled, her feelings could not be repressed, it had been her favorite book from the age of nine... and now she was finally reunited with a copy of it, of course it was a greater priority over the history and translation theory texts she'd recently been sticking her nose into too. Not that they would necessarily let her leave with any of those either.Â
The attendant actually looked gratified that Avis was finally making a first purchase from the store, and looked one small step nearer to forgiving her of all her bookstore-related sins. Then he caught sight of the Thief in half a state of undress on the book's cover and pressed his lips together, and Avis lifted her chin at that, smirking and willing him to say it. He didn't, and let her be on her way.Â
Back atop the ever-dependable Sir Fabuli, Avis reflected on the amount of time that had eclipsed since the revelation of the Nymian tome in Xavarian's study. It couldn't be more than two... or three... right? She realized with a kind of bemused horror that she really didn't know. She wasn't even sure where she had slept, if that was even possible - the longer she lingered in the Eagle & Quill, the more the hours failed to make sense - days blurred into nights and nights into days. Once, craving for fresher air, she'd made a day trip to Wineport, but something had brought her crawling back to the bookstore again.Â
She was almost at the inn when she realized that she'd neglected to buy paper again - not that she had much money left after the U'naanza Jhin, though.Â
Avis had taken to making small talk with the trusty Innkeeper lately, ever since he'd rescued the scrollcase from where it'd been left hanging on Avis's door. These bits of conversation ranged from comments on the weather to interrogations that revealed the relative plainness of the Innkeeper's name. As always, he stood where he always did, observing the tavern-goers, a clothed, watching wall of green behind the counter. When Avis approached, then, after an absence of Hydaelyn-knew-how-many days, she had a bright smile for him, and it seemed he had word for her too.Â
"It seems you're just a short while b'hind 'im, this time," he quipped.Â
Avis stood rooted to the stop for  few moments as warmth rose through her skin and everything clicked - the reason for his curious hurry, his vague parting words, the secretiveness - as though he'd planned something for her. And he had. "That's... interesting," she replied lamely - and immediately kicked herself inwardly - what a terrible response, for shame, Avis. She managed, somehow, to hold her expression in check, her back straight and her head high as she walked sedately past the innkeeper into the halls and corridors of the Mizzenmast.Â
Once she was certain she was safely out of sight of the Innkeeper, she broke into a mad dash for her door.
There it was, that broad smile spreading across her face helplessly where she stood, bent over the table, spreading Xavarian's gift out over the table, until it was consumed by a patchwork of elegantly-crafted paper. She found herself touching them with more incredulity than wonder, lifting one or two of them at intervals to give them her customary sniff; then her pleasure began to ebb, and uneasiness took its place.Â
He'd given her the scroll case, the scroll ring, writing supplies and the Eagle & Quill, which was tantamount to a kingdom. She had nothing to offer except a few shabby pages and a smattering of prose poetry.Â
More importantly, she was used to a world where gifts came with prices; she knew the language of trade and never expected to be treated otherwise, even if her philosophy differed and she made little claims of others... She was used to living lightly. Living on less. Because the worlds - inner and outer - were... more.Â
Yet Xavarian... what did he even mean? Were these gifts?
Avis found herself pacing the room, in much the same way Xavarian, unbeknownst to her, had done on previous occasions. Except she left no trail of ice or embers, of course. On her third circumnavigation of the bare, too-wide space she stopped, seemingly resolute, and pulling off her hair-tie and left longboot, hurled them both with some vehemence in the direction of the window.Â
She folded her arms and stared at both objects, considering, as though they were strange to her. Then her gaze drifted again to the beautiful mess on her table.
Well, if he would insist on furnishing her with all this paper... who was she to stand on ceremony?Â
This overthinking when it came to Xavarian was really beginning to annoy her.Â
The other longboot finally removed, Avis turned her attention to the letter itself - which proved, of course, to be an even greater headache.
What had she done? It'd started out innocently enough. The first note was little more than a playful jibe and a display of curiosity, interest, careless goodwill. Now she didn't know what she read and what she wanted it to read. She found herself laughing, again, at herself.
Her fingers had found a couplet which they seemed to take pleasure in tracing, over and over and over again.Â
It took her a much shorter time than she'd expected to get down to her reply. She pulled a sheet of paper from her new stack and began, with little hesitation, to write. Then she pulled another, a smaller piece, and scribbled briefly on that one too. She folded both completed manuscripts in halves, once, as usual, then decided that words alone might do this paper insufficient justice, especially if she had to return them to their maker. (What an odd situation this was.) So she spread them out again, this time making diagonal folds. The way a girl from Pearl Lane had shown her, years and years ago, with posters she'd ripped from the city's walls.Â
He'd echoed her metaphor, mentioned the wings in flight... perhaps he knew her name, too.Â
Avis's first few tries were failures; she must have missed steps along the way (it had been so long since she'd last put her fingers to such a task). By the time the birds took form properly, the paper had gotten so unevenly creased that there was nothing for it but to try again or make a copy and toss the original out altogether. But the latter would have been a waste of perfectly good paper... so Avis said to herself as she brought the paper beings in assisted flight to Xavarian's room. She pushed them underneath the door, lifted her hand to knock, dropped it, then left.Â
So she rose and went to the bookstore attendant, sliding that drool-marked copy of U'naanza Jhin's Taking the Thief across the counter. The novel fetched a hefty price, which Avis winced at, but it would not do, in vain she had struggled, her feelings could not be repressed, it had been her favorite book from the age of nine... and now she was finally reunited with a copy of it, of course it was a greater priority over the history and translation theory texts she'd recently been sticking her nose into too. Not that they would necessarily let her leave with any of those either.Â
The attendant actually looked gratified that Avis was finally making a first purchase from the store, and looked one small step nearer to forgiving her of all her bookstore-related sins. Then he caught sight of the Thief in half a state of undress on the book's cover and pressed his lips together, and Avis lifted her chin at that, smirking and willing him to say it. He didn't, and let her be on her way.Â
Back atop the ever-dependable Sir Fabuli, Avis reflected on the amount of time that had eclipsed since the revelation of the Nymian tome in Xavarian's study. It couldn't be more than two... or three... right? She realized with a kind of bemused horror that she really didn't know. She wasn't even sure where she had slept, if that was even possible - the longer she lingered in the Eagle & Quill, the more the hours failed to make sense - days blurred into nights and nights into days. Once, craving for fresher air, she'd made a day trip to Wineport, but something had brought her crawling back to the bookstore again.Â
She was almost at the inn when she realized that she'd neglected to buy paper again - not that she had much money left after the U'naanza Jhin, though.Â
***
Avis had taken to making small talk with the trusty Innkeeper lately, ever since he'd rescued the scrollcase from where it'd been left hanging on Avis's door. These bits of conversation ranged from comments on the weather to interrogations that revealed the relative plainness of the Innkeeper's name. As always, he stood where he always did, observing the tavern-goers, a clothed, watching wall of green behind the counter. When Avis approached, then, after an absence of Hydaelyn-knew-how-many days, she had a bright smile for him, and it seemed he had word for her too.Â
"It seems you're just a short while b'hind 'im, this time," he quipped.Â
Avis stood rooted to the stop for  few moments as warmth rose through her skin and everything clicked - the reason for his curious hurry, his vague parting words, the secretiveness - as though he'd planned something for her. And he had. "That's... interesting," she replied lamely - and immediately kicked herself inwardly - what a terrible response, for shame, Avis. She managed, somehow, to hold her expression in check, her back straight and her head high as she walked sedately past the innkeeper into the halls and corridors of the Mizzenmast.Â
Once she was certain she was safely out of sight of the Innkeeper, she broke into a mad dash for her door.
***
There it was, that broad smile spreading across her face helplessly where she stood, bent over the table, spreading Xavarian's gift out over the table, until it was consumed by a patchwork of elegantly-crafted paper. She found herself touching them with more incredulity than wonder, lifting one or two of them at intervals to give them her customary sniff; then her pleasure began to ebb, and uneasiness took its place.Â
He'd given her the scroll case, the scroll ring, writing supplies and the Eagle & Quill, which was tantamount to a kingdom. She had nothing to offer except a few shabby pages and a smattering of prose poetry.Â
More importantly, she was used to a world where gifts came with prices; she knew the language of trade and never expected to be treated otherwise, even if her philosophy differed and she made little claims of others... She was used to living lightly. Living on less. Because the worlds - inner and outer - were... more.Â
Yet Xavarian... what did he even mean? Were these gifts?
Avis found herself pacing the room, in much the same way Xavarian, unbeknownst to her, had done on previous occasions. Except she left no trail of ice or embers, of course. On her third circumnavigation of the bare, too-wide space she stopped, seemingly resolute, and pulling off her hair-tie and left longboot, hurled them both with some vehemence in the direction of the window.Â
She folded her arms and stared at both objects, considering, as though they were strange to her. Then her gaze drifted again to the beautiful mess on her table.
Well, if he would insist on furnishing her with all this paper... who was she to stand on ceremony?Â
This overthinking when it came to Xavarian was really beginning to annoy her.Â
***
The other longboot finally removed, Avis turned her attention to the letter itself - which proved, of course, to be an even greater headache.
What had she done? It'd started out innocently enough. The first note was little more than a playful jibe and a display of curiosity, interest, careless goodwill. Now she didn't know what she read and what she wanted it to read. She found herself laughing, again, at herself.
Her fingers had found a couplet which they seemed to take pleasure in tracing, over and over and over again.Â
***
It took her a much shorter time than she'd expected to get down to her reply. She pulled a sheet of paper from her new stack and began, with little hesitation, to write. Then she pulled another, a smaller piece, and scribbled briefly on that one too. She folded both completed manuscripts in halves, once, as usual, then decided that words alone might do this paper insufficient justice, especially if she had to return them to their maker. (What an odd situation this was.) So she spread them out again, this time making diagonal folds. The way a girl from Pearl Lane had shown her, years and years ago, with posters she'd ripped from the city's walls.Â
He'd echoed her metaphor, mentioned the wings in flight... perhaps he knew her name, too.Â
Avis's first few tries were failures; she must have missed steps along the way (it had been so long since she'd last put her fingers to such a task). By the time the birds took form properly, the paper had gotten so unevenly creased that there was nothing for it but to try again or make a copy and toss the original out altogether. But the latter would have been a waste of perfectly good paper... so Avis said to herself as she brought the paper beings in assisted flight to Xavarian's room. She pushed them underneath the door, lifted her hand to knock, dropped it, then left.Â
[sub]Avis Inkwood | Qara Qalli
journal/tumblr[/sub]
journal/tumblr[/sub]
