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Post by Xhavian Navarre on Jan 3, 2023 21:21:21 GMT -5
The people in the library were used to him. They didn't stare, they didn't point, they didn't look at him like he was a thing rather than a person himself. They would share words and help him if or when he asked. They didn't avoid him, draw their children in closer, and step out of his path. Or mostly, at least.
Sometimes was different. Sometimes was always different. Shifting with passing time and moments that bled into those beyond them. A glance up accompanied by exclamations of surprise when he approached because they weren't expecting him, or because one of his scars had lengthened from the last time they saw him. Nervous chuckles as he dipped his head and kept his eyes down so they didn't make it worse. Occasionally he'd pull the hood of his cloak up to keep the glow from being too much.
But sometimes... sometimes he was a thing—a strange thing unlike what people had ever seen with as many stars on his skin and in his gaze as could be seen in the night sky. A curiosity. An oddity. Different.
Books didn't judge him, though. They were silent and didn't ask questions he was tired of answering... if he even had an answer to give. Should he have cared anything for coin, he would have been a wealthy man if he had a solar for every time he was asked some form of 'why?' Not that he ever really had an answer for that one. And not that people were truly satisfied when he said it was a blessing.
Because there had to be more, right? What's the real reason? as he had been asked on more than one occasion when those that were about his age decided different had been a reason torment him in his youth. Whatever it was, Xhavian didn't know. So he looked and read and researched until the words started to become a mass of ink that he couldn't discern. He had done so for years once he was old enough to understand that there was so much he and his mother didn't know about why.
And he prayed. He devoted himself to the one that gave him this blessing... to only ever hear silence.
The morning's prayer had left him with nothing this day, too. Peace, serenity, a filling sensation within his chest, but there hadn't been any words. No wisdom or guidance. He had felt the starlight in his veins, heard the whisper of the moon with every beat of his heart, and with his nebulous eyes closed, he had seen the very essence of the cosmos that was held within his gaze... but it wasn't an answer. It was simply there. Simply him.
It was why Xhavian had decided to make his way to the library, why he had gone bright-eyed and hopeful to the head attendant, asking after anything new or if any of those he had requested had made their way to the shelves. He had only been partially disappointed to learn that neither was available, the light in his eyes dimming just a little, but it hadn't been a reason for him to leave. There was not much else for him to do while his mother was away on... pilgrimage.
Humming softly to himself, the various bookshelves and tomes stacked upon them because the focus of his attention as he began reading the spines. There would be something of interest to help him pass the day, he was certain. It required only a little finding, the thoughts that threatened to bind him waylaid as much as he could manage.
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Post by Delaela Fenastra-Asiliari on Jan 3, 2023 22:22:12 GMT -5
Delaela Asiliari was more of a hands on person than a cerebral intellect, but she still found joy among books on the rare occasion she got to read them. They were actually quite necessary to her line of work; schematics made up a large part of her study, especially when she did not have access to a forge or the standard equipment for any sort of higher level carpentry. It was important to keep her skills sharp. One day she would need them again. Maybe, maybe.
But there was more than just her vocation at her interest. Approaching any library filled her with trepidation. The concept of such vast amounts of knowledge, readily at one's fingertips, was all the more stark for someone who had such large gaps in her memory. Fully aware of how much she didn't know, and, perhaps, a little frightened by that concept, Del nonetheless made her way through the shelves, shrugging the hood off of her head as she rubbed the tips of her cold, elven ears. She'd spent a large portion of her time in the Coldwood here in the Frost Gale, a perfect place to escape into seclusion when the world became too much. Eventually, though, as she always did, there was a calling within her to venture back out, explore, seek. There were frequent occasions when the civilized world seemed to know who she was, but she rarely was able to reciprocate. Perhaps it was time to be better informed.
Lost in her thoughts, Del fingered the spines of the tomes in front of her, brow furrowed. The last time she had been in the Ash Lands, she'd been recognized and attacked, by some angry demand for vengeance. She had evaded the capture and subsequent punishment, but still did not know why that had happened. It left her with a sick sense of dread; perhaps it was better if she didn't know. Despite that thought, Del unfortunately knew better.
But perhaps not today. Selecting a book on wood carving projects and techniques, Del cracked the cover and started to read as she walked-- straight into a humming person as they rounded the very same corner, sending her collected books sprawling to the ground.
"Oh, gods," She quickly knelt to start picking up the books, thoroughly embarrassed, "I am so sorry, I wasn't paying attention. Are you... alright?" Del looked up to find a bright eyed, etheral, shimmering vision before her, amber eyes widening slightly, drawn to his scars. Did she hit her head? "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
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Post by Xhavian Navarre on Jan 4, 2023 0:43:08 GMT -5
He was still struggling with being startled. Sudden and there and unexpected were hard. They were things that he couldn't prepare for, couldn't plan his reactions, and couldn't be careful with. Mind lost to a subtle drifting, an ebb and flow that was as timeless and endless as the power that coursed through him felt, there wasn't enough time even if created for him where he saw what was coming and wasn't taken by surprise by it. The tune lost. The collision unavoidable. A crash of books that fell that had his heart seizing in his chest as it was—
Cold. Frozen. He could not feel his arms or legs. He didn't feel real. He had his thoughts, he could hear them winding around him tighter and tighter in a way that would make his heart race. But there was no beat, there was no thunder in his ears as his pulse quickened in panic, in fear, in despair as the darkness around him swallowed more and more of him until he was—[1]
Back. A blink where he had been gone. Lost and found in the place of his dreams, the one that felt like a memory both ancient and new. But he was here now, too. Again, maybe? Had he left? His body felt sore, like it had been stretched too thin, dragged to where it shouldn't be, shifting and moving in the spaces that existed outside of what was seen and heard and... real?
His book had slipped out of his hands, though, the memory of it dropping gone from his mind. Absent as if it had never been there. When he... when it happened, things that weren't on his person sometimes didn't make it. So it must have dropped when he was... not there. Maybe that was the small thud he heard when he came back, standing where he had been, or was since he hadn't moved, hadn't gone anywhere else but here. With someone who was kneeling and talking and—oh, yes. That was right. He had run into her.
...or she had run into him?
Xhavian canted his head, glowing strands of hair slipping free and falling across his face a little. It always became unkempt when he... did that, but bumping into someone probably didn't do it any favors either.
"Hurt me?" he echoed back at her, confusion clear on his face, his frown causing the star-like freckles on his forehead to shimmer a bit brighter. "Oh. Oh, no," a gentle smile played upon his lips. "No, of course not. It was just a little..." startling, he didn't say.
"I wasn't paying much attention myself when I should have been," he added, a whisper of laughter within his voice. "I am alright, though, and you—you are too, yes?"
Cosmic eyes regarded the woman warmly before he noticed her scooping up the book he must have dropped or had... fallen in his momentary absence. "Oh, that one's mine actually," he said as he kneeled, as well. "And let me help you gather these up. The attendants here are quite kind, but they are also..." he paused and thought for a moment, "...'protective' is a word for it. A nicer one than what I've heard others use." [1]Spell - Blink
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Post by Delaela Fenastra-Asiliari on Jan 4, 2023 22:13:41 GMT -5
Del found herself staring at this bright, beautiful person, a small crease forming between her brows as she found herself... well, she wasn't sure what the word was. Confused? There was a strange charge in the air, having missed the brief disappearance while her head was bent to pick up the books, but she had noticed that the space had been reoccupied during that moment of distraction.Like he hadn't been there for a moment, but then he was before she had noticed the wasn't. She was not at all studied in arcane practices, but had been on the receiving end of a spell more than once. Did they cast something? Or maybe she was she just finding new ways to lose her mind?
But this persons words and smile were gentle, and the small worried crease relaxed as they won a smile from her in kind. A veritable constellation of a person, calming as the distant stars. Del nodded as they asked after her. "I'm alright, just a little embarrassed; I'm usually a bit more attentive than that..." she added with a small grumble directed at herself.
She paused in her reach as he knelt to pick up the books with her, glancing briefly at the title of the one he had dropped, casually interested in what he might be reading. Inclining her head in gratitude, Del picked up another one of hers, keeping her voice hushed out of respect for the books, "I'm sure they wouldn't appreciate me reading and walking at the same time..." she exhaled a small, amused puff of a laugh at her own expense, returning the smile. "I havent been here too many times before myself, so that is very good to know indeed. I'm Delaela Asiliari, by the way."
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Post by Xhavian Navarre on Jan 5, 2023 12:40:51 GMT -5
The breath he had been holding was released when it seemed the woman—Delaela as he would come to learn—didn't notice his sudden gone-ness. It was always difficult to explain, how it worked, or didn't work, sometimes, and the way people looked at him after he mentioned that he didn't always have control over the things he did was so much worse. Like he was dangerous instead of just strange or odd. Like he should be feared as a few steps were taken away from him. No one ever realized how hurtful it was to be backed off from, even if he did understand.
It scared him, too. Sometimes. Or all the time really. There were moments where he could feel it, that power—his power building up, growing stronger and stronger until it felt like he was about to tear at the seams with the way it didn't want to be contained. Stars growing brighter, the scars on his face and body splitting open further, it ran just beneath his skin, clawing to get out.
And in a blink he would be somewhere else, always within eyesight of where he had been before, but... People would cry out in alarm. Guards would draw their weapons. If he was lucky, there would only be a few startled gasps. And if he was... unlucky, there be anger because he knocked into someone or spooked a horse or was on the other side of a fence on property whose owners didn't care for trespassers.
At least this time it was alright, though. As was Delaela, which was more important, seeing as he had run into her. There was a smile to return the one he gave her, but he could sympathize with feeling embarrassed over a bit of clumsiness. He was more than a little familiar with it himself. All things given.
Xhavian chuckled softly. "Well, I'm not really well known for paying attention, so if anyone asks, we can blame it on me," he said, his book on various flora of the Frost Gale and their practical uses tucked away safely while he helped Delaela stack hers up in a neat pile. "They're a bit used to it by now... even if their glares say otherwise," or their angered words spewed vitriol as they had the one time when he had lost control, the force of him suddenly reappearing causing a bookshelf to be knocked over when he crashed into it. But he didn't say that, of course.
Nebulous eyes met Delaela's, the emotions within them hard to discern with the chaotic swirl of them that wasn't anywhere near normal. "They do it all the time themselves," he whispered conspiratorially when she mentioned the attendants not caring for reading while walking, his smile turning a touch playful. "Despite their own warnings."
Secret shared, Xhavian leaned back on his knees, looking around a little to make sure one of said attendants wasn't on their way over after hearing the commotion. They were strangely good at always knowing when things happened in the library that they could either scold people for or give disappointing looks over. If he didn't know better, he'd think it was almost another sense of theirs. To just know.
It looked like he was going to be lucky, though. The last time... well, they had threatened to ban him from the library for an unspecified duration. It was only because of the good graces of his mother that they hadn't, and... he had so little to do. He didn't know what he would pass the days with if he couldn't come here from time to time and—
Oh, he was getting lost again. Delaela was introducing herself, and the books were all gathered now, too. "I'm Xhavian," he said, catching back up, "and it's nice to meet you. Or bump into you, I guess." Motioning to the little pile they had made, he added, "Would you like some help carrying these to a table or with finding something? I don't work here myself but... there are some weeks where I visit every day," a hint of that earlier laughter returning.
He was happy to help, really, but more than that... he just wanted to try. Maybe she wouldn't shy away. Maybe she wouldn't think he was too odd or too strange and let him talk to her for a little bit. He'd understand if she did, of course. He always did... but he also always hoped that maybe he'd have a few moments where he wasn't alone.
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Post by Delaela Fenastra-Asiliari on Jan 5, 2023 19:50:30 GMT -5
"I couldn't let you take the whole blame-- we can share, I'm sure there's enough to go around." By the sound of things, the librarians were quite militant about the tomes in their care. She understood to a certain extent the amount of responsibility taking care of things like this held, she herself was quite protective of her tools, but even Del was quite understanding when it came to slips and mistakes. Though perhaps that was the monastic training talking. She wasn't as fixed or rigid as others in her profession because of her ability to go with the flow, but also because her own situation was so mutable.
The conspiratorial whisper drew a soft laugh out of Del, an amused exhale through her nose to try and stifle the noise. She kept to the whisper, nodding sagely, "Ahhh, you don't say! Tsk, tsk, such hypocrisy." Still chuckling softly, Del finished adding her books to the pile and gave the man a warm smile, inclining her head in a small bow. "A pleasure to bump into you as well, Xhavian." Del looked back at their pile, tipping her head in assent at his offer. It would be nice to just... talk with someone. It was a not-uncommon occurence where she was recognized and hunted and had to stay on the move to keep out of notice. That hadn't happened here in The Pale City yet, but it had happened enough over the past fifty or so years that she was almost always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was a rare treat, a novelty even, to be able to relax in the presence of someone else? Surrounded by warmth and books? Even through her normal wariness, she could not resist the offer. Xhavian seemed very genuine as well, a true sincerity that shone through his glowing eyes and gentle smile. She leaned into that instinct; it had served her well in the past. For none of her alarm bells to be going off upon meeting a new person was a rarity she felt pulled to explore.
"I would like that very much, thank you," She offered a share of the books to Xhavian to carry as she got smoothly to her feet. "I think this is what I'd lie to look at for the moment, but that is very good to know. I am pretty regularly confused by how this place is organized." Del's lips pulled into another small smile, nodding to the stack he had. "Are you researching anything in particular, or is are you mostly reading for pleasure?" Del asked, genuinely interested.
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Post by Xhavian Navarre on Jan 8, 2023 13:44:59 GMT -5
The corners of Xhavian's eyes crinkled a little with his growing smile as Delaela laughed. A warm feeling budding in his chest to hear the sound. Gentle and kind. He couldn't help but feel it—feel the soft stirrings of happiness with this moment out of time yet still within it where it was a pleasure to meet one another. Books restacked. Names exchanged. A whisper, an offer, and acceptance that had cosmic eyes glowing a touch brighter, the scars on his face pulsing a little with their escaping light.
He wouldn't have to leave yet, and she wasn't excusing herself to do so either. He could talk, could try to carry on a conversation. About the books they carried, the library itself, and maybe even the weather, such that it was. It never changed much outside of snowing or not, but it's what people would sometimes remark upon with one another, and now he could be people, too. Normal-like despite not being any form of it himself.
"It's no trouble at all," Xhavian was quick to reassure in the wake of her thanking him. "I once had a stack so tall I couldn't see around it myself—or, well, more than once, but I've since learned not to keep doing that." Plopping his own book on those Delaela handed over for him to carry, he stood as well before continuing with his tale. "Bumped into the table I was looking for with my hip so hard, I had the bruise for about a week."
If he was talking too much or sharing too much, Xhavian wasn't aware. He was filled with the stories he never got to share with anyone, alone that he was. They ranged from the most exciting—when he happened to be walking along the outer walls when a display of magic was released, the residual effects falling around him a bit like the shards of stars falling from the sky—to the most mundane—the stray cat he greeted every day on his way to the apothecary, their pelt much fuller and their bones no longer showing from all the scraps he offered it. They were the things that meant nothing, that just were. To others. But for him, they were the pieces of his life, the things that made up his days that passed on and on without another to give them to.
So, he gave them now. A story for every comment made. He couldn't give them before, and now was a good time, he thought. While someone listened. While he had a chance to share.
More quiet laughter slipped free, a shimmer of sound, one that seemed to echo on itself when it was honest and true. "It is organized in here, that much I know, and I sometimes think I know how... but it's also a lot of flailing—not actual flailing, of course. I'd knock something over if it was."
When was the last time he had laughed like this? A month? That... sounded about right, and he was pretty sure it was while he was working with Ardreth. Yes. Yes, that was it. They had given him a glare because of the look their customer had given them was one he recognized. He was odd and strange. He stopped laughing.
Not now, though. Or not yet, at least. Delaela didn't seem to mind, and she even asked after him. Which was exciting in the way it drew him out of his drifting thoughts.
"Hmm? Oh, a bit of both, really," he answered. "I work in an apothecary, so one is a study on local plants and what they can be used for." It was the thickest one of those that he carried for himself. "The other two are ones I haven't read before, but I liked the filigree on them, which, not supposed to judge a book on its cover, yes," he said playfully, "but silver has never led me astray so far."
They were starting to near the tables set out for those that wanted a comfortable place to read or a place to spread out and conduct their research, and Xhavian would follow Delaela's lead on where she would like to sit, having no preference himself. He'd found himself in almost all these chairs at one point, seemingly endless time that he had to himself.
"What about you?" he asked, vibrant gaze finding her. "I don't think I recognize any of these books you've got."
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Post by Delaela Fenastra-Asiliari on Jan 8, 2023 22:07:00 GMT -5
Del laughs again at the admission of how he bumped his hip carrying books, careful to smother the sound against the back of her hand so they wouldn't draw any annoyed looks from the librarians. She was completely unbothered by the 'oversharing', though she would not call it such. If anything, it was endearing, extremely refreshing for someone to be so open with their thoughts and experiences. It spoke of a true and earnest heart. She watched the way his eyes and scars seemed to glow a little bit more, like the ray of starlight Xhavian quite literally appeared to be. A rare and good person. This one would be something she would have to write down.
She nods in earnest agreement, understanding exactly what Xhavian meant, "Someone else's organization, so it's unfamiliar, exactly so. I think flailing is apt-- think of how people tend to pinwheel when they lose their balance. This place feels like it could be very unbalancing for some people. It certainly is for me," There's another quiet chuckle as she looks up at the shelves, hallowed halls of endless knowledge. There were answers here, silently staring at her from the thousands of books, waiting for her to seek out that which she did not know. That which, maybe, she did not yet want to know.
Returning her amber gaze to Xhavian, Del's eyes brightened at the mention of their vocation and what they were here to study. "You're an apothecary? That's fascinating!" She gravitated toward the chairs by the window to sit next to; they looked comfortable and warm, and had a desk between them that the two could read their books at. It also gave her a clear view of the exterior and the lines of sight between the shelves. Sitting here was an automatic choice, not made with the conscious intention of ensuring no one could sneak up on them, but that was certainly the outcome. At the very least, it was peaceful here and comfortable. This was a place they could talk openly. "I'm not much of a botanist or gardener, but I can certainly appreciate the practice of condensing ingredients down to make a new thing with a different function. It's very similar to my own work."
It had been so long since the last time she had talked about her work; Del's face lights up at Xhavian's earnest question, presenting the cover of one of the schematics she was looking at for wooden built objects, like puzzle boxes, unique to the traditional designs of the Frost Gale. "I am a blacksmith and carpenter. I don't have access to a workshop of my own, yet, so I try to keep my skills sharp while I travel. I sell little objects like this while I'm on the road. Are you from the area? I might be able to make you something, if you like." Del was more than happy to spread a little bit of wonder with her craft; the point of the whole thing was creation, after all. Making, forging, molding a shape into becoming something new and wonderful. Like coal into diamonds, or, if she knew about such heavenly operations of their universe, celestial gases into stars.
Her head tipping again at his books, she examines the silver filigree with a look of interest. "The gilding is certainly pretty. What do you find in books like this?"
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Post by Xhavian Navarre on Jan 13, 2023 21:44:07 GMT -5
Xhavian had stopped believing in Fate and Luck a long time ago. Although, when he thought about it, he wasn't even sure if he ever quite believed in them, even as a child.
His mother had tried to explain it to him before. That there was good luck, bad luck, and coincidence. That sometimes things were destined simply to be, and there were those who believed that it couldn't be changed from that set point in time, treating it as if the threads that unraveled out all around them were fixed paths that couldn't be deviated from. And he had known that they were wrong. That it wasn't Fate or Luck or Destiny. It... was.
Connected. Trailing and bleeding together. Echoing soundlessly together. There were ripples instead of threads. An endless ocean of color and light both known and without names that everyone was bound to, but not within. The smallest shiver of movement could come crashing into another, stillness both created and destroyed. It wasn't words that were written or preordained. It was action and reaction that expanded on forever. Like the stars in the sky.
And Xhavian could see it.
It was why the happiness he felt when Delaela picked his favorite spot in the library to sit was one that felt like warmth spreading throughout. The color of his hair blossoming before his eyes as a halo that wrapped itself around them as they approached it. Lighter hues akin to the color of his gaze swirling around their hands as they neatly stacked their books on the table and began to take their seats.
Of course, that color and warmth shifted from the peaceful blues and greens tinted faintly with purples to something much more rosy that splashed across his cheeks when Delaela said that he was an apothecary.
"Oh, I'm not... I'm not an apothecary myself," he admitted, ducking his head a little to hide his blush and busying himself with sorting out whose books were whose. "Not really, anyway. I sort of just, uhm, help out?" he offered, nebulous eyes peeking back up at her. "Tending to the shop, bringing in deliveries, cleaning up... I sometimes even find myself heading out to Coldwood to gather a few things from time to time, too," the embarrassment for being mistaken for something he wasn't easing a little. "But I... I'm not really an apothecary, you know?"
"Not to say that I can't make anything, of course," he added, his fingers drumming on the hard leather cover of the book he had pulled from his little pile once they were sorted. "But, uh, that's Ardreth. They own the shop and are the apothecary in both meanings of the word. Me? I'm just," he shrugged, "around?"
He flashed her a small and nervous smile before glancing away, tucking away phantom strands of hair that hadn't fallen out of place. Remembering that he didn't quite belong even with Ardreth. Even in the Pale City. He was around. He was... tolerated by the people that were used to seeing him. Polite for politeness' sake. Kind because they would be cruel to treat him any other way in the face of how hard he tried to be kind himself if only for a few moments of time and conversation.
"It's fun, though," Xhavian said after a beat. "I enjoy how all the pieces of a potion or salve come together. How what you start with looks nothing like what you create in the end, and you can take certain aspects or properties of one thing while..." he thought for a moment, "...'leaving out' others that might be harmful. It makes you wonder how much something could be changed to create other things or if there really is a limit on what it could become."
Blush having faded, Xhavian perked up a bit as he spoke. Nervous energy leaving him, allowing him to return to that natural friendly glow that he embodied in all ways. There was also something of an excited glimmer to his cosmic gaze when Delaela mentioned that there was something of a similarity between their work, and the question of what she did was on the tip of his tongue, genuine curiosity a spark that shimmered within, but the words were unneeded as she continued... and he may or may not have leaned over the table with a scrape of his chair to look over the schematic.
What was detailed out was... wildly over his head in terms of puzzling it all together, but he could make out that it was a puzzling contraption to begin with. "...whoa," he breathed, his smile growing, eyes flicking to and fro across the schematic as he tried—in mostly vain—to discern more from it.
"Different but similar," he agreed, nodding as he plopped himself back in his chair. "And impressive—amazing, really, which were all the words I was thinking, but, uhm, forgot to say," he chuckled. "Even if I had few hours to pour over that," he said, motioning to the schematic, "I doubt I could make anything from it myself, that you can without having a workshop, is... well, it's incredible, you know that?" The praise came easily. Without thought or consideration. Just given. Fragments of kindness, of well-meaning without any shadows that clung to the edges of people's words at times.
"Oh, that's... that's very kind of you, but you don't have to worry about making me something," Xhavian was quick to say next, a bit of shyness shifting the illumination of his being to something a touch softer. "Though, I am born and raised here in the Pale City if you need any help finding your way around. I've heard that 'underground' makes it hard to find much of anything and can be... disorientating if you're not used to it."
It wasn't only his loneliness that had him offering to help her find her way around the city. She was good company, good conversation, and he always wanted to be... helpful in some way. Put his wanderings to use since nothing else truly was when it came to him as far as he could tell. If he could be of use to Dalaela, then she could, in turn, do bigger and better things herself, maybe. The ripples started to maybe become a wave. All because he plucked at those stars, pulled on those threads of starlight. To watch but also to... be there. Exist.
"Hmm?" he blinked, lost but returned with a blink of his eyes. Faded and present for splitting seconds. A soft bit of laughter escaped him as he caught up with the question asked of him. "If I'm lucky? A story of some kind, though, I'm not completely against them turning out to be anthologies or encyclopedias. It makes them easier to find if I ever need to look something up in them later."
He paused for a moment. Words considered. Impact weighed. His voice then found. "I just... have never been out of the city before? Or Frost Gale since the Coldwood is outside city limits." He thumbed the edge of the book in front of him. "So... I am always hoping one of the books I pluck off of the shelf is a story about the rest of Charon. Makes everything feel a bit bigger."
His smile was a touch melancholic as he said this, but he tried not to let it become sorrow. There was no room for it, and if he let it in, then he might... drown in it.
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Post by Delaela Fenastra-Asiliari on Jan 15, 2023 19:41:30 GMT -5
Del watched the colours dance across Xhavian's features, the shifting hues of effervescent colour attracting her eye, and bringing a small, wonder filled smile to her lips. Xhavian was like an aurora, a dazzling fluctuation of cosmic energy that could not help but be seen, be known. She wondered, vaguely, as she listened to him talk, if that was his soul she was seeing.
If so, it was a beautiful soul, which did see to reflect well on Xhavian. His presence, in these first few minutes of meeting, was a balm. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered how her own soul would look by comparison, if it rolled off her in waves of colour like that.
Her eyes moved to his hands as he nervously tucked the air behind his ear, and smiled, catching the little gesture. "Ahh, so a shop's assistant, or apprentice? I confess, I am not sure of those naming conventions in that particular field. I have done the assisting and apprenticing as a smith and carpenter." Del settled back against the back of the couch, head tipped in genuine comfort to listen. So many questions, but she wanted to let him finish, first. It was rude to interrupt. That, and Xhavian's attitude towards the construction of a potion and the reagents was inspired. There was so much depth involved when someone spoke of what they were passionate about. That shone through here, as brightly as Xhavian's aurora. She nods, picking up his thought, "How fundamental is an ingredient to a recipe, and how does excluding or adding more change a recipe, right? I believe that's how we got bronze," Her smile widens, relating it to her own work to show her understanding. "What sorts of potions do you make?"
There's a soft chuckle at his 'whoa', nodding knowingly. It had taken her years to be able to decipher the diagrams. His praise, though, as Xhavian leaned across the table to examine her book with wide eyes, caused a darkening hue in her deep brown skin, a flush of her own creeping over her cheeks. Incredible? Determined, stubborn, sure, those were things she had heard or had thought about conducting work outside of a proper building and away from proper materials. But incredible? She feels the weight of that word settle in her chest with a blossoming warmth.
"I-I, ah," She stammers, flustering a little. Oh, no. How did words work, again? There were too many, suddenly, and also not enough of them were the right ones. Come on, it was one sincere compliment! Say words! Del clears her throat, smiling a little sheepishly, the warmth spreading to the tips of her pointed ears. "Struggled." There's the word. She did it. A small victory. "For a long time with the diagrams, I promise it makes more sense when you have the object in your hands. It's hard to conceptualize a shape from a flat one. And-- thank you," There's a sincere smile that lights up her face, "for the compliment. I hadn't thought about it that way; it's been mostly a necessity. When you phrase it as incredible, I realized, yes, I am rather proud of that."
Another little laugh escapes, softly (it is still a library), at the shy declination, saying she didn't have to worry about making him something... and then in the same breath offering to help her around the city. This was something she recognized; helpful, kind, towards others, but perhaps nervous about imposing on anyone else. She leans on the arm of her chair towards him conspiratorially, a small, crooked smile playing on her features. "How about an exchange? I would like that very much; I've been in the area a couple of times, but not often or long enough to get a grasp of the area at all. I would be happy to thank you for your guidance and company with a little woodcraft. How does that sound?"
There was a small moment of silence following that, as though he had lost his train of thought, but instead there was a little... flicker. As though he didn't just go elsewhere in his mind in a moment of distraction by an errant thought, but actually went somewhere, at least partially. A trick of light maybe? Del smiles again at the sound of his mirth, and his curious method of locating books of interest to look at, about to comment, but then something crosses his expression, and she waits.
Her brows raise a little in surprise. "Never?" She looks down at the silver filigreed book between them. How juxtaposed with her own experience. Did not know where she was from, or how she got there, but had seen much of Charon, wandering from city to city to either find or avoid answers. How like a mirror, Xhavian was; his shimmering eyes and soft smile a cosmic opposite to her soil and soot... but she wandered while he remained still. There's a tilt to her head as she comes to understand is words, nodding once. "That sounds like a worthy past-time indeed. Is there a particular reason you haven't left, if you don't mind my asking? Or what sort of things do you make with your knowledge of apothecary science?"
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Post by Xhavian Navarre on Jan 21, 2023 0:14:57 GMT -5
Giddy was a word for it. Excited was another. They bit too strong to encompass the true essence of what all was felt, the emotion being gentle in its existence, but they did help to describe the way everything bubbled up to the surface as he spoke with Delaela. His words, his smile, the light that glimmered along his skin and within his eyes. Bright and near radiant in all forms. Betraying always his emotions as they reacted and responded. Intense when they were good. Faded when they were bad.
Were he and Delaela in the night sky instead of a library, Xhavian would be a star in his own right.
"...assistant is close, I think?" Xhavian answered after a moment, canting his head slightly as he considered it. "Definitely not an apprentice, though. I, uhm, well, I don't really fit the part all too well, and people get... strange when they think that I might have had any part in brewing the potions." He scratched at his cheek absentmindedly, just beneath one of his illuminated scars. It flickered and dimmed a little before that light returned.
He didn't blame them. Not really. When it came to the things you ingested or crafted with, why would you let someone who looked like him have anything to do with it? It could easily be contaminated. Or cursed.
"'Assistant' sounds a lot better than 'strange boy who does errands for a bit of pay,' though, so I think I'll go with that one from now on," he chuckled. "It has a nice, professional ring to it, too," and hopefully Ardreth wouldn't mind it themselves, but there was no way to know. Maybe he just wouldn't call himself that when he was around them. To be sure.
His smile became something of a grin as Delaela easily—and actually—followed along with what he was saying, his ramblings the kind where he understood when people just nodded and played along instead. "Yeah, exactly!" he said... a bit louder than he intended in his excitement. Exclaiming being the proper word, but he quickly hushed himself and ducked his head as if he had been scolded by some invisible librarian that overheard him.
Xhavian did spare a glance around them to make sure they weren't about to be set upon by one of the attendants, though. Just in case. They were quite... sneaky when they needed to be, and they had a tendency to hover around him. Maybe they thought that if he was busy talking with someone, he'd be less inclined to accidentally do something that could be destructive rather than disruptive.
"But to, ah, answer your question, mostly healing potions at the moment," he said much, much quieter, his smile still speaking volumes... although, his eagerness to share got ahold of him once more, and the whisper-like tone didn't last for very long at all.
"Oh, but I have distilled a few oils that smell really nice when you use them in candles or incense," he added, his pride evident in the way he sat up a bit taller and the sudden ripple of light that swept across his scars and freckles. "It took a bit of... experimenting, and there were a few hiccups that had us needing to leave the windows open for a few days to air things out," a blush of embarrassment sparked to life, laughter coloring his words, "but a lot of people have stopped by asking after them," and he truly didn't mind that Ardreth had to lie and say that they were the ones that made them. Anymore, at least.
He was all too happy to let the conversation drift to Delaela, though. Happy to learn. Happy to listen. Happy to hear and talk and have someone else for however long it may or may not be past this moment. Always genuine. Always curious. He loved every chance given to him to experience life beyond what life he had created for himself in his waiting.
"I'll have to take your word for it making sense," he... he teased? That's what he was doing, right? Being playful. Making merry. Like when kids in the books poked and shoved at each other before dashing away. "But I do see your point, and you should be proud of it," he told her, a touch more serious. "Taking something drawn out on a piece of paper and turning it into a shape with pieces that you can shift and move is no small feat... and that's coming from someone who's completely unbiased and didn't just get a small headache trying to imagine it for themselves just a minute ago."
It was a shame that his laughter gave him away, slipping freely as he shook his head. He liked this 'teasing' stuff. Because he was a little biased from her kindness and the exhilarating feeling that was there in being in her company. And he had gotten the teeniest, tiniest headache as he had tried to picture what he was supposed to be looking at with the schematic.
The offer of her just giving him something had sobered him up a little afterward. Light fading just a touch. The weight of that being too much, even if it was willing, diminishing it as he tried to be polite and as kind as she. But all too soon, it was a conspiracy again. Whispered and shared with a playful smile.
'Exchange' was better. It didn't feel quite as heavy or like an imposition. Or taking when it was undeserved. It was still a lot, of course. Still unneeded. A simple bit of thanks would be all that she had to give him for any guidance or... or company, but sometimes giving was important. A sentiment he knew and agreed with.
"Alright," he said with a nod, "An exchange, and I'll see to it you know your way around the city as if you've lived here rather than just visited."
She was threads of gold. Twining, twisting, and tangled in some places. There were a few ends that were frayed. A few strands that were severed, while others had fused together and forged anew. Stronger because of it. Unbreakable. A shimmer of fortune, luck, and worth that drifted about her, carrying with it petal-soft crystals of blue, of the flowers that grew beyond the snow, beyond the borders he knew, yet he could see in her. Blossoming in her compassion. Bound but not kept. Nurtured by her light and being.
Could she see it, too? Did she know that she left those threads behind, draped them on those she met, and carried those that extended beyond? Tied to so many. To all those she had and hadn't met yet. To him now, too, the urge to reach out and touch their thread resisted. Just barely.
"Never," he echoed with a shake of his head. Looking past and looking towards. Her. Not the threads. He almost thought he recognized that look of hers as he did so. "And, well, there is a reason. People don't just stay in one place all their lives without them, you know? So, of course, I've got one," he chuckled, making it quite obvious he was stalling. Working up the courage. Finding the words.
"My... my mother, she, uhm, went on a pilgrimage for answers a while ago," he started, voice wavering a touch as he glanced away. "Before she left, she made me promise to... stick around and wait until she returned. It was better that way, you know?" He shrugged, uncomfortable with talking about it. Too much becoming apparent. Like the yawning stretch of years from when she first left until now. "She wouldn't have to focus on making sure I wasn't getting eaten by a dragon or something as she traveled, and this way, she also doesn't have to worry about the house falling into disarray because I'm taking care of it in her stead, yeah?"
There was a smile, but the light—his light had gone a cold and sorrowful blue.
"But, uhm, what-what about you?" he asked, forcing that earlier enthusiasm and excitement into his voice. "What brings you to the Pale City? Other than the books, of course," he added. His lightheartedness was almost real as he tried to tease her about being in the library.
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Post by Delaela Fenastra-Asiliari on Jan 24, 2023 15:54:04 GMT -5
Even if she was so inclined, speaking wth Xhavian was a mesmerizing experience. It wasn't simply the colours and how they danced across his features, it was how he expressed them. Xhavian seemed to wear his heart so openly, not merely on his sleeve but shamelessly through his very expression. That she could tell he was having, dare she say... fun? Speaking with her? Touched her in a way that could not be properly described. Someone liked being in her presence. Someone was pleasant, enjoyable, safe, to be around. This was the most present she had felt in years-- when was the last time she had smiled like this? She decides not to worry about it. More and more of her walls fall away, Del easing into a relaxed smile as they speak in hushed tones.
Her head tilts a little, genuinely confused; why wouldn't he fit the part? He seemed perfectly adapted to being an apothecary, he was studying it, clearly had a passion for it-- if it was what he wanted to do, why not pursue it? Maybe it had to do with these little flashes of shyness, the small blinks of uncertainty and unbidden memory that seemed to flash across his colours and flicker over his face.
As he burst out with a moment of excitement upon being understood, Del has to clap her own hand to her mouth to keep from laughing, his earnestness wholly infectious. She glanced around for librarians, quietly chuckling under her breath. They appeared to be safe for the moment. Del waved her hand at him a little, a silent gesture to tell him all was good. She lifted one leg to tuck under her, leaning her elbow on her knee, watching more of these little shifts. He sat up more, shoulders squaring, clearly proud of his work and his oils. A little quiet laugh leaves her, and she nods. "I imagine despite the, ah, need to air out the shop, the scent in the street was pretty effective advertising, hmm?"
Del gives him an unburdened and easy grin, a crooked little smile that lifted more on one side than the other. "You mentioned that people get strange about you making things for them-- why is that? You clearly have skill, you make healing potions and oils, you have such passion about your work, you have a drive to expand your learning, and you're very kind. I would happily buy any manner of tincture from you." It had honestly not occured to her for even a second that people would not find Xhavian's demeanor and array of shimmering hues as wonderous and endearing as she did. He was overflowing with good will and energy. She only saw the honest, sincere person in front of her, surrounded by a halo of stars.
Del chuckled again quietly, her grin stretching wider with the light tease. It seemed to her that Xhavian was starting to ease up a little bit too. Though the serious note to his tone spoke volumes; he meant it. He meant every word. The colour darkens on her cheeks again; the teasing but earnest praise was a new, and not at all unwelcome experience. "You are very kind to say so," Her smile accepts the compliment, humbly, amber eyes shining. Unable to rememember still the last time she had joked and laughed like this, even so quietly in a library. Looking down at the diagram on the page before her, Del smiles a little wistfully. "I imagine it's not too unlike creating potions; you have to measure just so, your materials have to be high quality, and you sort of learn by doing. Getting the stuff under your nails, so to speak."
His acceptance of her offer of an exchange won a bright smile from her, clearly thrilled. She has to press a knuckle to her lips to smother the loudest part of her laugh, knowing that Xhavian clearly meant every word of his promise. "I would very much welcome that. It would be a treat to see this city as you do." That, too, was honest. Seeing this city through the eyes of someone so unabashedly authentic would be an incredible experience.
Her brow slowly raises in gentle teasing as Xhavian hems a little over her question, the corner of her mouth curling in amusement as she patiently waits. Happy to hear him out, to get the full extent of his words, uninterrupted. The longer she spoke to Xhavian, the more certain she was becoming that there were people, clearly, who were not interested in hearing him. She listens, her attention wholly on Xhavian, eyes never straying from his face. Her brow presses slightly, the concern for his mother was clear in his words, even if he tried to brave through it. And-- oh, his colours. She watches them dim to an icy blue, and her hand twitches, wanting to reach out, but unsure if that was welcome. How long was a while?
She lets that small bit of silence hang for a moment before she lifts her hand and lightly touches his elbow, trying to express some attempt at reassurance, understanding and comfort. Maybe, what he needed to hear. "It sounds like it's been some time. I'm sorry to hear that, you must certainly miss her; you're a good son."
As his question moves to her, Del smiles, happy to give Xhavian the reprieve from that emotion that she could see surfacing. She exhales a wry little laugh, "Ah, well. I've been to the Frost Gale a few times, to get a break from the world." Her fingers tap the page for a moment. How much should she reveal? This honest soul deserved some truth in kind. Some genuine connection and vulnerability. Del exhales, letting go.
"A number of years ago, I awoke at the bottom of a cliff without my memory," She explains, her voice even and soft, like she was sharing something from someone else's past. In a way, it was. "While I travel and do my work, offering services for carpentry and smithing for those who struggle to afford it or do it themselves, I sometimes encounter people who remember me from before. Most of these interactions don't go well, to say the least, and while I am trying to uncover some of why that is, I am also trying to remain focused on the wonderful moments and people in front of me." She gives Xhavian a smile; case and point. "It's nice to step away from all of that and not worry about who I was but focus on how I am. Who I am." She adds, focusing on the positive, intent to keep that light-heartedness. "I genuinely like it here, too. The Pale City is fascinating."
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Post by Xhavian Navarre on Feb 4, 2023 16:24:31 GMT -5
Xhavian was forced to duck his head in shyness and no small amount of shame when Delaela asked him why. Embarrassment a splash of rosy color flickering to life. A feeling he didn't like welling up as he remembered and wished and regretted the things outside of his control, that weren't his fault. Twisting with the sharpness of having to voice what was... obvious, wasn't it? Why people didn't trust him. Why they avoided, distanced, and silenced themselves in his presence. Why he was alone.
"That's, uhm, well, it's... kind of a complicated thing," he started, looking anywhere else that wasn't Delaela's gaze. A faint shiver of dullness across his features, his light. "Or maybe not complicated at all, really." Somber laughter. Mirth that was interjected but sad because of the way it wasn't quite real. "It's just... it's just that I'm—that they think I'm... cursed?" he forced out. "Because of the, uhm, the way I look, you know?"
"Which, I don't blame them," he quickly added after that admission. "I look strange, and people fear the things that are strange, right? Or different...." The nervous tapping started again. Soft thuds of his thumb against the stiff leather binding of the book. "And I know... I know it's not to be mean or cruel. It's just... how people are, yeah? Wary of what they don't know or understand."
He tried to smile and believed he was mostly successful. Even if it—even if he wasn't as vibrant as before. "It's kept people alive for things like," he changed his voice to one that was as close to playful and jesting as he could manage, "'should I put that brightly colored berry into my mouth and eat it.' Which, you shouldn't, by the way," his voice returned to normal and just a touch serious in that gentle light it always held. "Brightly colored is meant to ward off the things that might eat them when it comes to plants."
There was a shyness about him again, though what color had faded returned and remained this time. "...but thank you," Xhavian said sincerely after a beat. "For saying that you would. Buy something that I made." A nervous flare of innocent white flashed within his scars. "It, uhm, means a lot. That you would."
It was quite easy to tell that he was uncomfortable with answering, with addressing the... things that followed him. Staring and pointing. Whispers that always carried. Knowing and living with the alienation and isolation that came with being and looking different from everyone else. Even though it was fine. It was always fine... even when it wasn't. Because he understood. Because it was a reasonable response to something—someone like him.
...wasn't it?
He told himself it was, at least. And it helped. Most of the time. Occasionally, it would hurt. Or it always hurt if he was being honest, but it hurt less when he focused on the good, on the things that didn't hurt. Infrequent that it might be when he always saw and always knew.
But it was alright. It was better than alright, truly. There was gold that twined itself delicately around him. Words and blossoms of tender, powder blue. Smiles and laughter. Sharing stories, sharing truths, sharing the things that mattered and were important to receive it in kind and have it treasured and appreciated for what it was and what it was similar to. There was levity of conversation, a light, a shimmer, that he had not had in... such a terribly long time. It didn't matter what was or would be. Not when he much preferred this.
Of course, it was hard when there was such a connection for things to not become a bit personal. More so as they went and grew more comfortable with one another. The talk about their work, about what they did was a window, and as they continued, an eventual door appeared with the encouragement they gave each other to say more. A door that led to those more personal things. Somber. Serious. Careful.
He considered himself lucky that Delaela was kind, that her heart was as golden as the threads that drifted delicately around her. Teasing at his own colors. Lacing itself within them. Compassionate and mindful, she didn't press him with the mention of his mother, of how he was waiting for her still. Instead, she... she reached out to him, her hand at his elbow causing his gaze to snap to hers.
Gods, he had forgotten how warm it could be to have someone else touch him, his own somber void of existence cold by comparison. He had forgotten what comfort felt like when it came from someone else, his own reassurances growing weaker and weaker as the years stretched on.
"...I miss her every day," he heard himself admit. A little boy lost. A little boy left behind. A little boy filled with hope that he kept alive by his own, luminous will.
Xhavian shoved that all down, though. Distancing himself as much as he could. It may not have been very artful or the most tactful thing, but he tried to push things away from himself, his genuine curiosity for this new... person, this new friend he hoped she could become helping him a little bit. Even as there was a flash of guilt when she shared something so intimate herself, something he couldn't imagine ever bearing as a burden himself. To forget... everything.
"You really don't remember?" was probably the wrong thing to say, but in his surprise to hear of it, the words slipped free before he had a chance to capture them. "Sorry, that was... that was rude of me to ask," following as sincerely as the hurt in his question had been as he couldn't help but feel for her. "I only... It's something that I can't really understand in a way that's... meaningful? But my heart aches to think about it, and I'm... wow, I'm probably not helping at all with not making this or you feel awful right now, am I?" A nervous chuckle escaped him, but Xhavian quickly shook his head, dismissing it to be serious. The situation called for it, and there was kindness in it, too. As there always was.
"I am sorry you don't remember, though," he said. "That's not a thing you want people who could be good friends to have to go through." Emptiness. A vast emptiness that stretched outwards and never ended. Dark because there was no light that existed. He had seen and feared it in so many, many dreams.
"But... I am glad that your travels brought you here because you are a good person, a good person who could easily be a good friend to a great many people, myself included if you... if you don't mind my rambling, strange, awkwardness, of course," A soft shift towards playfulness came in the light of his being growing just a touch brighter, "Oh, and clumsiness, but don't forget that we agreed to share the blame this time, alright? It's probably the first break I've had from being the one at fault in... months now?" Something like that.
There wasn't any curiosity now. Not the kind that could be prying. He wanted to know about Delaela and would happily listen to anything she wanted to tell him about, but he wouldn't press her on the things that didn't come willingly. Even if it was already shared.
"Do you have a favorite place you've visited so far?" he asked her instead. Always so eager for stories.
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Post by Delaela Fenastra-Asiliari on Feb 7, 2023 13:42:25 GMT -5
Hearing that people thought Xhavian was cursed for how he looked, and that he didn't blame them, sent a pang of empathy through Del's heart. His attitude towards it seemed very pragmatic, and understanding towards those who shunned and hurt him... but what about Xhavian himself? What about the understanding and empathy that he deserved. What Del saw was a young man, by her standard at least, who was dealing with the worst sort of loneliness-- the deliberate kind. He tried to play it off with a little joke, and Del did smile, but she could see it was wan, that he was trying to lighten a mood he did not feel light towards. His colours dimmed, and that in and of itself felt like a tragedy.
"I would," Del confirms, nodding, "And I will. I... perhaps it is because I am not from the area, but I cannot understand the depth and continuation of that fear from people. It is one thing to be wary at first but... if they got to speak to you for any length of time, as I have, they would surely see how beautiful you are. And I mean that." Her smile widens a little, turning sincere. "I have seen a lot in my day, but I have never met anyone like you, who shines from the inside out. I am truly sorry that people here have not seen that. Bright colours may be a warning in nature, sure... or an attractant to the right things, right? The ones who wear camouflage are the ones you have to watch out for."
It was clear Del felt very strongly about that. The people who tried to dim Xhavian's light were doing themselves, and him, a disservice. Curse or no, Del couldn't say for sure, but even if that was true, he deserved compassion and support. She would give what she could for that. A foundation of how things could be.
She could not say for sure why she leaned towards that connection she felt to Xhavian-- perhaps it was as simple as a lost soul recognizing another. But perhaps, part of it, was that Del had been trained to see the beauty in things, in people, and find the right way to help it into it's truest form, its best shape. Xhavian felt like that to her. Raw, real, an uncut gem filled with starlight. Imagine how much more bright he could shine if one only removed the occlusions-- those people that tried so hard to cover him up.
Hearing how he missed his mother sparks puts a prickle in the corners of her eyes. Del is careful not to shed any tears, of course, but Xhavian's words and tone are so earnest, so whisper thin, she almost feels compelled to hug him. It was a wound that ran deep, she could tell. How long had he been without contact? Without his mother? Instead, she gives his arm a firm yet gentle squeeze. Saying nothing, allowing him to shift the subject as he needed; only providing silent support and comfort.
--she almost responds to whether or not she could remember certain things, but Xhavian backtracks, worrying about being rude. A soft chuckle leaves her, gravelly and kind. "It's not rude, and you're not making me feel awful, Xhavian," She quietly reassures him, a gentle smile pulling her lips. "Speaking with you... helps. Truly. Because of the way my memory loss has affected me, I don't have a lot of connection to places and people. Being able to describe it to someone, especially someone who is interested and wants to understand, who cares, is a relief. It validates my own feelings on it." Her head tilts a little to one side, trying to find the right words. "If I could describe how it feels, it's like... trying to find a book in an empty library," She gestures at the room around them. "That book should be here. You were told about it, have a vague idea of what the cover should be. But it just isn't on the shelves. Maybe it was misplaced, maybe it was never returned, or maybe it never existed. It can be daunting," she does admit with a quiet sigh.
"The plus side, if there is one, is that I get to see the world through new eyes. Like sunrises, and first snows. It helps me to enjoy the present moment a bit, you know?" Del smiles again at Xhavian, touched by his remark. Good friends? This was only their first meeting, but... she did think they could be good friends. Perhaps they already were. "Good friends also want one another to be celebrated and accepted for who they are, too." Del agrees.
Another laugh leaves her, and she shakes her head. It was good timing too-- the sincerity of Xhavian's words, of him calling her a 'good person'... well, that hit her in just the right way. Del could not say fo rsure if she was good, if she was worthy of that moniker, but she did try. To hear someone call her that made her eyes sting again. "I don't mind at all. I don't even think of it as rambling, I am just interested in hearing you talk. The clumsiness, though, yes, we can share that blame still," she adds, laughing still, albeit quietly. His light brightened just a bit, and she wanted to nurture that. She didn't like that he had to take the blame for so much. Maybe she could help with that.
"Hmmm," Del hums thoughtfully, "I do like the Coldwood. It's so quiet and serene, and in winter you see the aurora in ribbons across the sky. But I also have a soft spot for the Ash Lands," A soft smile appears on her lips. "I don't quite understand why I keep going back there-- it's a rough place, and the volcano there is volatile. But I like the rawness of it. The idea that something new is being shaped there. It's not a perfect place, but it is an interesting one." She tilts her head back to Xhavian, "Where have you read about that you would like to go first, when you get the chance to travel?"
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Post by Xhavian Navarre on Apr 11, 2023 15:04:52 GMT -5
Xhavian's eyes had widened, his heart both unprepared and inexperienced with the way it filled his chest. Pressing outwards. Beating against the walls and chains of the delicate glass he created. Breaking. Always breaking. With harsh words. With cruel actions. With the gazes that narrowed, the whispers that wrapped themselves around him, with the loneliness that came with being outcast, outside, and unwanted.
Only it didn't feel like shattering.
It hurt. That fullness. That pushing and building of emotion that was the purest of white, of innocence that rippled across his skin, flashing and brightening. Raw in the unadulterated vibrancy of his being. Claiming even the violet of his eyes as he sat in shocked stillness. Unnatural to him. Foreign in the face of how animated he was, of the life he simply exuded.
If there was one thing that was true about him, after all, it was the fact that he was fidgety and energetic. Constantly moving whether it was forward, backward, up, or down. A rhythm played out with his fingers drummed along whatever surface was nearby. A chaotic beat tapped with his foot. He was always in motion. Whether it was physically or from the power that flowed within his veins, that danced beneath the surface, saturating him so thoroughly that it split his very skin when it welled up too much and simply burst from him.
Xhavian was energy. He was a font of it. Even as the strangers and acquaintances of the Pale City could only never know the depths of his spirit and being. Even as they simply labeled him as odd, his liveliness unappreciated or avoided because of that oddness
But here was Delaela. Here was someone who started a conversation with him. Who stayed and listened and talked. Who didn't mind him. Who didn't see him as cursed. Here was a woman of golden threads and delicate blooms of the gentlest blue scattered about her like crystalline perfections, a shimmer of purity created by her kindness, by her deeds born of that compassion.
Here she was causing tears to spring to his eyes and had him chuckling wetly as he refused to cry. Happiness of a simple 'I would' felt deeply even as there was sorrow for never having anything like it before, the hollowness of being avoided so long making itself known because...
...because it wasn't fair.
A thought he never let himself have.
A thought he couldn't help but think when he watched the world pass him by. Friends. Families. Lovers. Laughing, smiling, and basking in each other's presence. Seeking each other out. Spending as much time as they could with one another. Asking after their health and happiness. Doing what they could to make sure that they weren't alone.
A thought that was a knife embedded in his chest, twisting as he always wondered why.
Why couldn't he have that, too?
"Heh, y-yeah," he laughed, overwhelmed with too much emotion present in the sound. "That's... that's right, too," the white began to shift, to gain hues to it once more. "About the colors and camouflage." It faded to a blue, one with flecks of Delaela's gold.
"But I don't know about—or, well, no one's ever—" his words were difficult to form, though that was likely from his thoughts that were a jumbled mess of contradicting and harmonizing feelings. "I've never met anyone like you," he finally blurted out. "*Either*, that is. You're... well," his cheeks flushed a little, "I've never met anyone with colors like yours," he said sincerely, glancing away nervously. Every word meant.
Never before had he seen threads that reached out and touched. He had never felt the warmth of them as he did now.
He had also never spoken about the colors that he could see, and he.... he wasn't quite sure why he spoke of it now. When he couldn't really explain it if asked.
It was a bit like explaining why he had brought up his mother, why he had shared something he knew would trail itself to sadness. Other than the conversation leading there naturally, he didn't really know. It wasn't as though he couldn't find a way to speak around the truth without lying. It wasn't as though he had to talk about her.
Maybe it was the way the petals felt against his skin with those gentle colors that slipped free from Delaela. Maybe it was the way she looked at him. He didn't sense judgement. He didn't feel wariness or distance. There wasn't anything other than the warmth of understanding and companionship. All there was, was a strange yet refreshing ease that came with talking at all. Even of the things that hurt and festered.
Xhavian wondered if she could feel it too. He almost felt as if she must to have accepted and moved past his blundered question and spoke of her memory. Lacking and lost. It hurt to think about, an ache settling that longed to understand, to know what it felt like if only to offer comfort. Instead he was left feeling only his own familiar emptiness. When his mind drifted and he saw only the endless. Devoid. Desolate. Within.
He also couldn't help but think on her analogy. A missing book in an empty library. One that should be there but couldn't be found no matter how hard it was searched for. Maybe it was missing because she was that book. She just didn't know it or hadn't figured out how to open it again after it was closed by... whatever had happened to have erased her memory.
Something Xhavian would not be asking about.
"Well, I'm... I'm glad I help, even if it's only by rambling on like I do," he said. Playfulness quiet in respect for the seriousness of the conversation. "It's about time it came in handy for something, yeah? Rather than just becoming something people tune out," like Ardreth, meaning well themselves but not always able to keep up. It only hurt a little with the responding 'what?' when Xhavian asked them a question and they had no idea what he was asking after. "I kind of... don't really realize how long I've been talking and just keep going until someone tells me to stop," he chuckled. A wispy little sound. One he hoped to help chase away that bit of sadness that had descended in the wake of such heavy things.
That light of playfulness grew when Delaela mentioned firsts. It was something he knew plenty about himself, sheltered and closeted away to the Pale City as he had been for all his life. Reaching and stretching. Finding all kinds of things he had never seen or heard of or done before. He knew that sensation intimately.
"They're like new chapters," he agreed, "or well, maybe new pages in chapters." His smile grew a little. "Sometimes authors can write paragraph after paragraph on a single sunset, whereas others will tell you simply—" Xhavian cleared his throat and sat up a bit straighter before delivering in an overly monotonous voice, "—'The sun has set.'" He laughed, settling back into himself. His attention hers. His kindness hers. Understanding as best as he could. "But, yeah, I get that feeling, of being 'in the moment.'" He always tried to memorize them.
The conversation drifted away, and they both followed it. Carried by pleasantness, by early budding friendship. Xhavian enjoyed it. He reveled in it. Even when it had become real in a way that it became a pressure on one's chest, it was still the most he had ever had in... such a long time.
It was part of the reason why he hung on her every word when she mentioned a place outside of Frost Gale. "I mean, you'd have me returning over and over again with just 'volcano' personally," he teased her gently. "I've read about them, and you don't get much more interesting that something actively spitting out molten earth, even if it is a little dangerous," he grinned.
When the question was turned on him, though, Xhavian hesitated. Where would he like to go first? Would he even get that chance? Would he be able to make it on his own?
He buried those insecurities behind his smile. "What a question," he heard himself chuckle. Stalling. Thinking. "I've just... read about so many places, I wouldn't really know where to start. The 'burden of choice'," he said all serious-like, "or something like that, yeah?" laughter entering his voice at the end if a bit strained. Forced.
Pausing for a moment, thoughtfulness crossing his expression as a gentle frown, Xhavian considered his answer. The colors that were very much a part of him remaining the same, returned to that same light as before now. "If I left here..." he started, sifting through his thoughts a bit more... only for a fierce blush to paint itself across his cheeks. "Well, it's not a place, really, but I... I would really like to go on a ship. One with the three masts and massive sails that go past the hull and are filled with the wind." His gaze gets a bit distant as he pictures it—pictures the ships he read about in stories and texts. "I've always wondered what being rocked back and forth by the waves felt like."
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