Interlude
It hadn't been that long. Xavarian had been back to the bookstore not long later, just as he said he would, and wasn't surprised to find Avis had already made her way out, as she'd implied. He'd stayed there to do a bit more work, among other things, feeling rather energetic that evening. The duskwight returned later, his pleased demeanor from prior delivery still lingering with him as he made his way into the inn room. Yet, he wasn't quite expecting quite what he found. The two, small, folded birds rested on the floor by his feet, he'd nearly kicked one, but stopped short when it caught his eye.
Surprised blinking ensued. He had stopped moving for just a moment to listen to the air around him. Floor creaks from outside, muted voices from the surrounding rooms, other sounds he never cared much to identify, even though at times they were difficult to ignore in their.. loudness. Nothing close, in the room with him. He let out his held breath, then knelt to carefully pick up the small paper birds, and inspect them closer.
Then a smirk took over. The paper crafted by his own hands, he could recognize anywhere.
He was initially quite pleased, almost thrilled at what she had made for him. Look how intricate and lovely these were, small paper birds, like the flight both had mentioned in their words. He started glancing around on where to keep them, before sitting with them at the table to look them over closer, when- with some strange combination between a sinking 'oh no', and a curious raise of his eyebrows, he saw letters written on the birds' forms. Or at least one, maybe a single letter on the other. Lips pursed together. "Hells-" He found himself torn.
She had crafted these quaint little creatures for him, both delicate in their construction, even in their uneven-ness, yet sturdy from the paper; he'd wanted to keep them as they were, but Avis surely wrote something within. Words she'd previously spoken ran through his mind; those of moral dilemmas, and who would he save if given the choice between her, the writer or the book. Of course, without question, it was her; her or both, if possible. But questions seeped through his thoughts not unlike those now with a much less clear answer; what gifts would he dismantle for what he thought they contained? Would he take apart something so carefully crafted for the Knowledge within? Would he unravel tiny beings' existences wrought with time and care to get at what was inside? Could they be fixed, then, could they be saved once their secrets were shown? Or were those the wrong questions altogether?
Would leaving them whole mean thinking them too fragile, too delicate and wish them kept in their state so they may never fulfill their purpose, the very reason they were wrought? Would he choose never to Know the inner most thoughts of another, even if they are held out given, to leave them alone instead as whatever their outer appearance shows by his own assumptions, for the sake of keeping them as he may have wished? Keep them; nice, and pretty, and safely locked away for his enjoyment, in willful ignorance of what they may actually hold?
The very thought upset him, the temperature, though it had already since risen with sparks abound, grew momentarily hotter; Xavarian found himself with a passing dull anger at something entirely removed from the paper birds before him, and he knew his decision then. The inner aggravation was immediately dispelled with a quiet huff, as the duskwight began, very carefully, attempting to unfold the tiny paper birds.
He read the first over. Once, twice, any number of times, smiling softly to himself, as just as many thoughts ran through his mind. But the second one.
The second one was harder to unwravel, but the tiny phrases it held caused Xavarian's eyes to grow wide, the Aether to ripple with sparks around him, even though his scepter on his arm held it in check. He covered his mouth for a moment, a small sound escaping a grin, read it over and over, and the other one afterward too.
He hurried to grab at some paper, only to push it away to stand. And pace. Time and again he paced forth and back. The duskwight's grin could not be contained, but he worried with it just as much. What did she mean? Was it what he thought? Was it as implied? Was it simply of the story she wished that he hadn't provided? How was he even to reply to that tiny once-bird? He opened his mouth as though to explain himself to the pages. Explain that he had no idea what to tell them.
Then he turned away and ran a hand through his hair. "Hells- Hells~"
He quickly sat to write, started something. Stopped. Went to push it away, then wrote something more instead. Before he stopped and abruptly stood again. What is wrong with him? He just about abruptly walked right out of his room then, only to turn quickly around, whisking up the pages in hand, to slide them all into his tome, before he quickly fled, as though something may form from the darkness in the room and grab him if he didn't.
Xavarian was only out the door for less than a minute before he was back inside again, yet this time, he began to throw off his layers to replace them with new ones. What he needed was to be absolutely distracted from this; these thoughts whirling about his head would get him nowhere, and he was certain that directing all of his attention to the sea was just the solution. But this time he would be prepared, godsdamnit all. Actually be ready to get as close as he could to the water. Then. Then after he's had his experiments, cleared his mind of all that resonated of the letters and their writer, the way she chirped her quips, the way her words gently coiled themselves around him and twirled, that had him spinning in circles, he might be able to say something about all this. Something not based entirely on what he'd hoped he read.
