5th of Fall, 520 AV
Davarin reached the top of the staircase with relative ease, the irony of one of the most important buildings in the city for the sick and ill to be able to access also being one of the hardest for them to reach not lost on him, and yet it spoke to the health of the people here that it had stood so long where it was. He considered the building for some time, staring up at the imposing structure with some trepidation. Though he had been recommended to inquire about work here, it didn't make it any easier to do. Run by a Symenestran or not, he doubted anyone in Khalea would have willingly accepted healing from his kind, and though he'd devoted a good portion of his life to educating himself for this exact purpose, the inner cowardly voice suggested relying on the path of least resistance and doing what his family expected of him.
He spat off to the side when that thought entered his mind, his face contorting into a grimace of hate and self loathing. Never. Never would he condemn someone to that. With a curse he took the last few steps to enter the foyer of the building. His golden eyes very quickly adjusted to the change in light, and in his nervous state began flickering over everything, trying to see without absorbing unless something became relevant. He immediately registered the multi armed receptionist tensing as she saw him enter, as well as a younger woman who had been talking to her that subtly shifted into a better position, even as he was looking elsewhere for other threats. It was his estimation that the receptionist was just sacred, but the other woman was trained defensively and was prepared for a fight, and he reminded himself to seem less threatening.
As he began to cross towards the pair, he lifted his hands out of his cloak, exposing his belt and the lack of weapons there. He lowered his hood and scarf in the same motion, shaking the light dusting of rain that had settled upon the fabric away, and kept his hands visible as he came closer. The Symenestran knew precisely what they were worried about, and did not intend to give them any cause to fear him directly. They of course would wonder, was he a fraud, an infiltrator? Was his purpose here nefarious? There was little he could do about that without showing them. He smiled, keeping his fangs as concealed as possible, as he came within speaking distance.
“Fair morning. I was told this is place to heal, and as I have some skill in the art was hoped to be given a job. I know herbs a bit, and can treat wounded good.” He paused, smirking slightly. “Sad to say, my bedside way suffers because of my Common, among others.”
The two glanced at each other, seeming to relax slightly, but not entirely. The receptionist cleared her throat first, and spoke to him in a tone he correctly interpreted as vaguely disdainful. The other merely watched him, her body seemingly prepared to move. Dav didn't concern himself, he had no hostile intentions here, and between his own training and the Flux he was sure he could at least escape harm should it come to that.
“Yes, I can see how your Common would affect that. I suppose since it's not up to me you should speak to the head doctor. She's with a patient right now but will be down shortly. If you go sit over there, and don't touch anything, I'm sure she'd be... delighted to speak with you.”
Her smile was much less than sincere, but he knew better than to point out that while his common was only passable, his ability to read people was not defunct as a result. With a smile and a slight inclination of his head to the pair of them, giving a closer look to the other girl as he did. He could have mistaken her for his own kind, but even though she was pale she wasn't pale enough. He sat himself on a bench, and waited.
