Inspired

[Avocet Oleander]

Winter 3, 512

"Thank you," Avocet said to the attendant, and his nod fell more like a bow. Clutching a rather large, leather bound sketchbook to his chest, he ducked out of the Place of Purging's waiting room and helped himself into the hall beyond.

He passed the patient rooms slowly, peering into each one as if he were only curious. Some were sick, others injured, but all seemed just a little peeved that the young vagrant bothered to make eye contact. That was all the nerve Avocet had; his feet seemed to pull him forward before his tongue could stop to think. Just a nervous smile and a quick nod was all he gave before the doorway became a wall again.

The human, on the other hand, gave him long enough pause. His leg tried to pull him forward again but he braced it instead against the door frame. He seemed to be sleeping, allowing Avocet a good look at the strange gash on his shaved head and the peculiar angle of his splinted arm. The foreign shapes of him were so intriguing that the artist forgot the courtesy he had promised at the front. He tapped the spine of the sketchbook.

"Excuse me," he said in Symenos, forgetting to use the language he had learned in school for this very purpose. He took a cautious step in, showing off his book and charcoal so as to distract from the ruby red eyes that still frowned over at the man's wounds.

"Do you think I could... would you mind if I drew you?"

[Gracen]

The man in question looked rather broken, though his head wound was not new, nor his brace. Perhaps it was the lack of sunlight down here that added to his pallor, made sallow what had once been gold. Blue eyes opened, a bit bloodshot, but only bleary for a moment before focusing on the artist. Though he hadn't spoken much Symenos when he arrived a season ago, he had been immersed in it since, and picked up a thing or two, even more so here where they were required to speak to him. Excuse me made sense, and that some sort of permission was being asked. So polite and to a human, how rare. "Slow, please," he said in Symenos, his accent atrocious. "Again?" Perhaps if he could hear it one more time, his mind more alert, he might decipher the request. He might even be able to answer it.