Solo Listening.

[Quiarinox]

4th of Spring, 513 AV ”So you see,” Daille was saying, waving his left hand as he gestured widely while his right hand raised a cup to his mouth. He paused to drink, the hot tea seeming to have no effect to him, before he continued. ”Between a skilled artist with a bland model and a novice artist with a beautiful model, a true artist no matter the calibre should be able to create a work of art with any muse he finds himself with. That’s why I think a skilled artist is better than a novice.” Quiarinox raised her eyebrows at that, a smile turning her lips as she took in his opinion wordlessly. Like him, she held a cup in her hand, and was soon taking a slow drink from it. The burn of the heated water scalded her tongue, but the tea in the cup tasted better with the heat. She enjoyed the silence while it lasted. Daille wasn’t the kind of person to blather on about unnecessary topics to cover the quiet, so she appreciated that about him. He was people watching in the interim, a habit he seemed to have picked up just so he didn’t blabber on. She did, as well, and found herself observing the carefully crafted scenes of others enjoying their noon break. Finally, she placed her cup down and idly traced the lip of it. She enjoyed the chance to observe the human as he watched others, comparing the attractiveness of his face with what she saw other humans wearing. He wasn’t bad looking, compared to some, but nor was he gracefully beautiful like others. Meriken was much prettier, even when he didn’t decide to apply his cosmetics, but this human before her had a certain appeal. It was easy to name the difference, for while Meriken was certainly mature and had all the vices a man who loved to experience thrills could possess, he was still a boy, and Daille was a man. It left a dry taste in her mouth. ”Well, from the perspective of the novice, I can’t help but argue that at least a novice isn’t yet set in their ways,” she responded when he again looked at her. She smiled, lopsided. It was pleasant having someone to talk to. Quiarinox wasn’t often accommodating, not to these people, but she jumped at the chance to get to know that sculptor she had met just the day before. Met, and nearly knocked him over, that was, before he had caught her wrist. She had the urge to wipe off her wrist now, even as she sat there, just at the thought. The contact disgusted her thoroughly. Why his offer of company intrigued her was strange when she thought of how she had acted once she was out of sight of him the day before. He was a human, a lower life form, and she had wiped the hem of her shirt over her wrist in case he had transferred something to her. And now they were sitting there having tea together. It wasn’t as awkward as she felt it should have been. He smiled back, the expression almost charming on his face, and she was almost surprised at the openness and ease with which he showed his amusement. She averted her eyes, as though he were showing her something shameful, and gazed out at the other patrons. It was her turn to stare as he recovered the conversation from the silence she left it in. ”How long have you been in Lhavit anyway, Quiarinox?” Daille returned the conversation back to her. It had been dancing between personal and professional the whole time they had sat here with their tea and scones. She blinked and returned her green gaze to him. It was pleasant to note that he did not feel the need to place a ‘nickname’ and refer to her as it rather than her actual name. She always disliked it when Meriken referred to her as ‘Rin’ and not the name she chose to reflect her ties to the perfect sky and the moon lord there. ”Long enough to be seeing my time here coming to an end soon,” she said absently. ”Maybe a year, I’m not certain. I barely see the need to keep track of the time anymore. It’s all meaningless when I will outlast it, I guess.” She detested the personal questions. Why was she here with him again? If talking like this with him was what she had purchased when she agreed to accompany him, she could think of a dozen other things to do that wouldn’t require fencing away his prying. She didn’t know if he caught on to her evasiveness, though, for he had dropped into that awkward silence that could have meant many things. She fancied he was thinking over her words and not the tone she had spoken them with, but that was a strange concept of its own. Why would the human think over her leaving his city? She knew he was born here and had lived here his whole life. There wasn’t apparently anything the outside world offered him. The cheva on his neck told her he had likely already found what he needed.