They'd both been pensive and quiet while returning to the Mizzenmast, though both their minds swirled with thoughts, and after the books had been carefully placed in their new lodgings, they'd taken their leave of each other at her door in much the same uncomfortable, tensed manner. Avis stood by the shut door for a few moments, frowning as Xavarian moved down the hallway. Under other circumstances, she would certainly have asked him to stay - at least for a while. This little realization only compounded her melancholy, a unique brand of vexed sadness? anxiety? that, most days, she managed to ignore.
She hated it when It ambushed her, like this, of all times; for the moment it laid her bare and she couldn't pretend it was alien to her.
Avis sighed. Poor Xavarian - she'd worried the duskwight, she knew. She had to shake herself out of this.
She turned to them then, the two columns of books awaiting ravishment on her desk. These new spoils from the Professor's library seemed to afford the perfect solution. Despite her weariness and mood (and perhaps because of these), she allowed herself, indeed, willed herself the indulgence of the tomes' visual and textual distractions. It worked. Somewhat. Her uneasiness had largely faded by the time information on certain beasts' mating habits brought an incredulous not-quite smile to her face, and before the bell was done, Eorzea trivia had fogged her mind over and sent her into a sprawling slumber across her desk.
Avis didn't remember ridding herself of her goobbue-spattered garb and stumbling into bed, but there she was some number of hours later, with a Lominsan morning pouring itself insistently into her face through the window. She felt greatly improved - new 'todays' always did wonders for her - and the letter she located soon after only cemented her optimism.
Damn it all, Xavarian, you've done it again.
In fact, said letter whisked her out of the room in a feverish flurry. The one clear thought running through her mind - currently a terrible whirlpool of wonder and gratitude and scattered vestiges of the It - was how she would very much like to smother Xavarian in Messes of a particular nature that very moment. Yes, bed hair, morning breath and all.
But it was day, of course, as she belatedly realized. When she reached his door, her attempts to alert him to her presence ranged from whistling and soft raps on his door to stomps along the corridor. Had he been awake, he'd certainly have heard her, but she knew these sounds weren't enough to rouse him. Briefly, Avis considered some more drastic measures - hollering in iambic pentameter was one of them - but eventually she resigned herself to his absence... for now. He was likely very weary, especially if he'd been up  writing that story for her right after the Nymian expedition.
There was still so much to say about the Wanderers' Palace.
Avis retreated reluctantly to her room then and re-read the letter. She perceived that a response was necessary, but littered the floor with at least a handful of crushed drafts before she settled on something somewhat acceptable.Â
Mytesyn fiddled with scraps of a fishy brunch and, from the snugness of his counter, watched. The dark-haired Hyur with the "curious disposition" had been passing fretfully in and out of the Inn's entrance, dressed for travel again, a conspicuous folded piece of paper between her fingers. After the sixth or so display of indecision he called out to her with a mouth still half-full. "Do it an' put y'both out of yer mis'ries," he quipped, smirking at her as she irritably approached him. "His mood's darker than 'is skin as it is."
Avis bit her lip. "Oh, stop looking at me like that. If you know so much, you can decide for me. Please. And you rhymed, did you know that? Is rhyming in vogue, now?"
She practically tossed the paper at the good Innkeeper's large and chewing face, and it missed the bones of his meal by an ilm. But she did return his expression of amusement with one for herself, a short, ironic laugh. Then she hurried herself off before she could devote too much thought to her choice of action, and it took another undramatic journey to the Twelveswood, and some quiet, pleasant wandering among the trees, before she eased.Â
Meanwhile, the Innkeeper played courier.Â
She hated it when It ambushed her, like this, of all times; for the moment it laid her bare and she couldn't pretend it was alien to her.
Avis sighed. Poor Xavarian - she'd worried the duskwight, she knew. She had to shake herself out of this.
She turned to them then, the two columns of books awaiting ravishment on her desk. These new spoils from the Professor's library seemed to afford the perfect solution. Despite her weariness and mood (and perhaps because of these), she allowed herself, indeed, willed herself the indulgence of the tomes' visual and textual distractions. It worked. Somewhat. Her uneasiness had largely faded by the time information on certain beasts' mating habits brought an incredulous not-quite smile to her face, and before the bell was done, Eorzea trivia had fogged her mind over and sent her into a sprawling slumber across her desk.
***
Avis didn't remember ridding herself of her goobbue-spattered garb and stumbling into bed, but there she was some number of hours later, with a Lominsan morning pouring itself insistently into her face through the window. She felt greatly improved - new 'todays' always did wonders for her - and the letter she located soon after only cemented her optimism.
Damn it all, Xavarian, you've done it again.
In fact, said letter whisked her out of the room in a feverish flurry. The one clear thought running through her mind - currently a terrible whirlpool of wonder and gratitude and scattered vestiges of the It - was how she would very much like to smother Xavarian in Messes of a particular nature that very moment. Yes, bed hair, morning breath and all.
But it was day, of course, as she belatedly realized. When she reached his door, her attempts to alert him to her presence ranged from whistling and soft raps on his door to stomps along the corridor. Had he been awake, he'd certainly have heard her, but she knew these sounds weren't enough to rouse him. Briefly, Avis considered some more drastic measures - hollering in iambic pentameter was one of them - but eventually she resigned herself to his absence... for now. He was likely very weary, especially if he'd been up  writing that story for her right after the Nymian expedition.
There was still so much to say about the Wanderers' Palace.
Avis retreated reluctantly to her room then and re-read the letter. She perceived that a response was necessary, but littered the floor with at least a handful of crushed drafts before she settled on something somewhat acceptable.Â
***
Mytesyn fiddled with scraps of a fishy brunch and, from the snugness of his counter, watched. The dark-haired Hyur with the "curious disposition" had been passing fretfully in and out of the Inn's entrance, dressed for travel again, a conspicuous folded piece of paper between her fingers. After the sixth or so display of indecision he called out to her with a mouth still half-full. "Do it an' put y'both out of yer mis'ries," he quipped, smirking at her as she irritably approached him. "His mood's darker than 'is skin as it is."
Avis bit her lip. "Oh, stop looking at me like that. If you know so much, you can decide for me. Please. And you rhymed, did you know that? Is rhyming in vogue, now?"
She practically tossed the paper at the good Innkeeper's large and chewing face, and it missed the bones of his meal by an ilm. But she did return his expression of amusement with one for herself, a short, ironic laugh. Then she hurried herself off before she could devote too much thought to her choice of action, and it took another undramatic journey to the Twelveswood, and some quiet, pleasant wandering among the trees, before she eased.Â
Meanwhile, the Innkeeper played courier.Â
[sub]Avis Inkwood | Qara Qalli
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journal/tumblr[/sub]
