Well, That Went Poorly...

Hallway Outside Averil's Room
A hallway with private room doors off of it at Xanadu Weyr.

The knock on Averil's door has a brisk brightness to it, each rap made by a relatively small fist, that sounds not panicked but packing some variety of zeal. And that's all before the door opens on the walking ray of sunshine. A respectful distance back from the door, though not awkwardly far, a relatively short (though not shorter than the man he's come to see) young man does a slow bounce on feet clad in ankle-high brown boots that hold style without adding height or other things that might be less practical. The rest of his outfit, a pair of slacks cross-hatched in varying hues of grey and a dark blue shirt with pale pink-or-peach-or-white (hard to say in this light~) diamonds, dots and lines alternating at intervals across the button up's matte background, is in much the same style: fashionable, but not over-the-top. Even the leather messenger bag slung across his chest and leaning on one hip, embossed with classy and intricate designs adds to the 'look.' The smile is not quite blinding, of course, but certainly makes a bid for a winning first impression. "Journeyman Averil?" It comes without hesitation, so whoever this man (nearly of an age with the Harper, if slightly older) with the Fortian knot is, he must have come with a description in hand because he doesn't sound questioning of the identity of just who he's found, but rather just politely not overstepping the bounds of propriety (any more than he may have done by showing up at Avi's room's door instead of, say, a workroom earlier in the day).

The door snaps open at almost the exact moment that the knock sounds, Averil's expression startled as he/she takes a half step back and blinks once. Depending, of course, on what Tiridyn has been told/heard, the sight of the artist, clad in a light blue riding skirt and jacket, might be a bit shocking. Still, it's snappy in it's own way, even if he did nick the idea off Tej. Fortunately, Avi appears just as shocked at finding someone standing outside his door. The smile, though, is enough to inspire a like expression in the artist, one hand raising to tuck a stray lock of golden hair back into the tidy knot at the back of his head. Still, it takes him a moment to answer, his lips parting a few times before he lightly clears his throat and steps into the hall to pull the door closed behind him. "You found me," he finally notes with a quieter version of a welcoming smile. Once upon a time, he would have been very uncomfortable at a stranger coming to look for him and finding him clad in women's clothing. Now? Now, he just doesn't think about it much. "Can I help you?" The question, far more curious, is uttered as he steps to the side, putting a bit more space between himself and the door.

There is, in fact, no surprise on Tiridyn's face. Whoever his sources, he has come with a thorough enough knowledge of who he's looking for and an apparently flexible enough mind that seeing Averil in his/her riding skirt and jacket doesn't seem to ruffle a feather or displace any of the sunniness of his smile. He moves as Averil does, to give him a polite buffer of space, not sparing more than a glance for the outfit itself, much as one would imagine one would do for anyone's clothes. "My name is Tiridyn. I'm from Fort. I brought you a hair bow." Or six. Listen, he probably didn't know how many times he'd need to buy more of the artist's time. The bow in question is brought from behind his back and proffered like a supplicant's offering, a pretty yellow thing with colorful embroidery set just so that, when tied, as it is now, it sets off the knot at its center with a pleasing symmetry. "I was hoping I could have a moment of your time." REALLY, JUST ONE. (No, lies. Tiridyn wants ever so many more than one, but he'll start with a bid for just one.) Then, if it helps, because it might help his cause, MAYBE, he adds, "I'm a friend of Ru'ien's."

The presentation of a bow has Averil blinking a few times, brows furrowing in obvious confusion. "You brought me a bow…" It doesn't matter that it's right there and easily seen. The fact that it is right there and and so easily seen is more than enough cause for Avi to be immediately wary. So much so that there is a palpable suspicion in the artist's gaze as pale grey eyes flick up to Tiridyn's face. So much so that, given the experiences of his life, he immediately takes a step back rather than forward. "I'm sorry, I don't think…" It is the mention of Ru'ien that has him halting in his retreat, his head tilting mildly although the suspicion remains. "A moment of my time for what?" The curiosity is impossible to conceal, it's there in his tones as much as the wariness is. Avi is not touching that bow, though, not until it is clear what it is being traded for.

Yes, Tiri, for what?? Judging by the way that the Fortian's guileless expression clouds ever so slightly with the observation of the body language and the step back, and all he might not be entirely sure, or maybe just perplexed by the reception. Briefly, a lower lip is bitten and dark eyes study the face of the Harper. "To listen to a pitch, actually." The bow has dropped to his side, but it's not forgotten. "I thought— well, Ru'ien said you liked—" It's not quite a stammer, but it's clear the young man is sort of trying to tumble all his words around until they come out right on his usually silver tongue. His lips press together going from a briefly troubled look into one of mild self-recrimination. "Sorry. Can I start over?" Without waiting, he starts. "Journeyman Averil, I know a very promising young artist. She didn't apprentice and her means are such that she doesn't have the marks to pay to be a student, and I don't think she's inclined to go calling anywhere but Fort her home, but—" It's clear as Tiri falters that he's not quite sure any of this is right, but he forges on, "But I heard about you and your art and I thought if I could talk to you, I might be able to work something out for her. Somehow." With enough bows for bribery? The bow taps the edge of his messenger bag and he bobs up and down once on his feet, but the man doesn't stay more (sealing his lips by dint of a solid expenditure of will). After a moment the bow is held back up, the presentation far less polished, so much more adorkably awkward. It's fine. Don't mind the blush, he'll LIVE. Avi listened to the pitch, apparently? The bow is his? The math probably checks out, at least to Tiridyn.

Ru'ien said he liked… "Ru'ien said I liked what?" Clearly the Artist doesn't know what to think of that, at all. Particularly since he -knows- he mentioned his beastcrafter to the greenrider. "I don't think.." Fortunately, a little brown, and very hissy— he's hissing, a lot, firelizard pops out of no where with every intention of landing on Averil's head. The fact that Averil is clearly agitated and clearly occupied, however, has him popping right back, however. Now, it should be mentioned that Tiridyn is probably (assuredly) as guileless as he appears. Avi, however, has a wealth of bad, and painful, memories to keep him retreating back. The Artist retreats, in fact, until there is a goodly measure of distance between them. Of course, when Tiridyn goes right on talking, the confusion in Averil's eyes only grows. "Um." Confusion abounds. So much so that, Avi glances over his shoulder, then back toward the door to his room before murmuring. "We are in Xanadu still?" Because— and it could just be the panic button in his head being pushed— he is more then a little confused "I.. I have no intention of moving to Fort." Because that is what is being asked right? And SORRY, there are just not enough bows for that. "I have a.." And again, he falters because WHO IS THIS BOW WIELDING SNIPER? "I'm sorry," he finally breaths. "What?"

To say that Tiridyn is as guileless as he appears would actually be a mistake. In this instance, however, it's an accurate reading of his current intentions and character. His eyes go to the firelizard, with the kind of lack of startlement that indicates a familiarity a deep -SOB- familiarity with random appearances by variously colored friends of that variety. What Tiridyn's guile does, however, on the occasions when it becomes clear he has some, is not anything that Averil would need to be worried about. Unless he has some particular attachment to well-earned marks and little aversion to games of chance. For what it's worth, though, the Fortian doesn't pursue Averil. There's one or two confused steps forward, but not pursuit, not actually bringing himself significantly closer. Confusion might be contagious (or maybe it started with Avi's perplexing reaction and is simply growing under all the right conditions) because now Tiri looks a little baffled. "Wha— oh, no!" There, there's one step forward, one hand held up in, again, that strange supplication. It's meant to say 'stop' or maybe 'wait', but it has that bow in it, so who knows what it looks like. "I wasn't thinking of your moving there." Here would be the ideal place for the clerk to explain what he was thinking, in crystalline detail so everyone can become enlightened that he's only here to beg a favor from the artistic genius that happens to be contained within this tiny Harper. Of course, what happens instead is an unhelpful blurt of, "Bows. Big bows." That would be the answer to Averil's first question, not that there's really much chance of that being apparent just this moment. At least Tiridyn recognizes things going swiftly from bad to worse. His free hand comes up to scrub across his face and then through his hair (poofing it slightly) in some agitation of his own. One more step toward Averil (still not near by any stretch of the imagination). "This is— Can I start over just one more time, please?" Third time's the charm?? Here's hoping.

See, the thing is? Tiridyn is stepping forward, which has Averil immediately stepping back. Which is WONDERFUL in a dance, but not so much in a hallway that is entirely too close to Averil's living space. Mind you, at the moment, Averil is no longer thinking this is some sort of bizarre come on and is starting to think he's dealing with someone who isn't entirely right in the head. Particularly when that someone is blurting out 'Bows. Big bows.' for no reason he can think of. Granted, that bit is entirely Averil's fault given he has completely forgotten what it is in reference to. Mind you, the bow being wielded like some sort of bright yellow weapon is probably not helping matters, at all. It's not. Not at all. And, of course, that one more step forward is met with one more step back— they're running out of the hallway at this point. It's the last that has him holding up his own hand in a 'stop' motion, his hand immediately falling to his skirt on the off chance that that might not be a good idea. "Just.. stay right there and I'll listen." The fact that he slants a quick glance over his shoulder in hopes of spying an escape route is something that can be, hopefully, ignored.

Nope is a very pleased not-rope when he returns, blinking back into existence near Avi’s shoulder and hissing wildly as he spends a moment slithering zooming above his head. And then he’s down, coiling around the artist’s neck like he’s some sort of dashing accessory, little head pointed at Tiri for one final hiss. It could mean anything, that hiss. It could mean ‘hi!’. It could mean ‘nice bow!’. It could also mean ‘death and doom and destruction are coming for you!’… but probably not? Either way, Nope is very pleased with his part in this little game they’re all playing, having done his job to perfection. Avi is running out of hallway. Tiridyn is running out of do-overs. And Shiloh is… on his way. It is not often that his little pet is sent to check on his other pet Averil and comes back in a huff. So, naturally, the beastcrafter has seen fit to recklessly abandon very responsibly turn his tasks over to a trustworthy apprentice and make his way back toward the caverns.

Really, Tiridyn is normally quite good about keeping his stray feelings or concerns from his various firelizards. There are good reasons for that… but also good reasons why his control isn't quite so good in this flustered moment of tongue-tangled, tripped-up talking with Averil. In the end, it just makes it bad timing when Nope gives that final his, while Tiridyn stops but inadvertently leans just a little forward onto his toes in unconscious expression of will to fix all this somehow, as the full weight of the degrees of wrong this is turning is settling on him. It's not that a brown on someone else is really threatening, but apparently surprising enough to open some of the mental stronghold gates to let out the equivalent of a mental squawk of collective distress. Honestly, they should be grateful it's just one that shows up. Unfortunately, it's an extremely beefy, mean green that pops into the air wings wide and talons out, shrieking as guttural a war cry as she can manage with the unfair limits of her small throat. Bad meet Worse. "Oh sh-" Tiridyn's expletive only barely beats the green's cry into the airspace and the COMPLETELY HARMLESS AND LOVELY BOW is dropped to the floor as Tiridyn lunges. He's snatching the suddenly hissing, clawing, fighting-him green out of the air and practically tumbling to a knee just because OW OW OW, THAT HURTS HIM, SMASH. The words punctuated by small yelps as Tiridyn tries to get the green against his shirt — his lovely shirt — and pull from the bottom to wrap her up tight (but not painfully so) as she wriggles and writhes and attempts to free herself— without, thankfully, thinking to toss herself back between because Tiridyn does not want spot-frostbite there, TYVM. This has, of course, brought Tiri an unfortunate, large step toward Averil, although if the crafter hasn't moved, it would put the Fortian at the foot of his skirts, almost in romantic portrait~~~ when reality is anything but. About the only thing that is intelligible in what is mostly directed to the green is the occasional, very genuine, "Sorry!" in between this and that.

When Shiloh finally makes his appearance (rounding a corner, if there is one, or simply coming down the hallway that Avi is running out of, if not) there’s a strange mix of confusion and concern (and then a righteously protective fury) in the dark eyes that dart between the pair. It goes something like Avi, Tiri. bow, bundle-of-rage (firelizard), hissing Nope Rope (other firelizzard), Tiri. Avi again, all while doing his damnedest to close the distance between the pair. “What’s going on here?” And yeah, he’s definitely snarling. But at least he’s not throwing punches?

What just happened? That is the expression on Avi's face. It is also the predominant theme of the thoughts running through the artist's mind. He does have the presence of mind to reach up and press a hand against Nope— both to keep him in place and protect him from the screeching ball of green fury. That Tiridyn is lunging and tackling and apologizing and Shiloh is standing and glowering and snarling and confused and Nope is hissing and that green demon from the Depths of Between is fighting and snarling has Averil giving a slow shake of his head, his hand drifting up to cover his lips as he steps back and exhales a breathy laugh. As that sound spills past his lips it grows, and grows until he is very nearly weeping as he shifts enough to let his hand fall from his lips to rest on the beastcrafter's arm. "I.. I have no idea," he admits amidst the sorries and the hisses and angry green demon sounds. "He's from Fort." He knows that. The upside of it all is that Avi is no longer perceiving Tiridyn as a threat. NOT that Tiridyn is not a threat! He may very well be the greatest assassin on Pern! But, at the moment, with him wrestling a firelizard? Very gallantly, by the way. >.> It's hard to feel threatened.

Shiloh is not impressed. Very, very not impressed. Not with Tiridyn, or the firelizard in his shirt, or the yellow bow, or the hissing Nope, or the now laughing Avi. Frustration flashes across his face, and the breath he takes is laced with something growly and very Not Happy as he squints between the pair. “I thought you were in trouble.” Which may be a bit of an exaggeration, since he didn’t exactly come running. But at the very least, “I thought you needed me,” because Nope made that abundantly clear in his own hissy, slithery, Nope Rope sort of way. But now he’s laughing. And true, maybe the situation is the sort of ridiculous that deserves a good laugh, but Shiloh will just have to join the fun a little later, after he’s done being confused and annoyed. And, since Averil seems to be unable to supply the details, it’s the unfortunate Tiridyn that gets the weight of his expectation, dark eyes sliding from head to toe and back again (pausing briefly for the bundle of lizard, should it still be contained in poor Tiridyn’s shirt) in a manner that is far less lewd and far more measuring. “Wanna explain?”

Does Tiridyn want to explain? That would be a solid nope. And yet, here kneels the Fortian in a stone corridor far from home, loomed over by a snarling man turned just markedly annoyed, while he literally wrestles with the green tucked in the top layer of his shirt as bad as a towel-wrapped-cat-who-just-does-not-want-to-be-pilled-for-their-own-good inadvertently revealing his fabulous if somewhat unexpected on someone of his short and relatively (but not compared to Avi) slight stature abs, near Averil who was not nearly so comfortable a moment before. He must realize that even though he has no idea who Shiloh is that Averil does, and what's more, that the scene sort of requires some explanation. What he should say is something straight-forward about why he came at all, clear the whole thing up, but distracted as he is, he starts with, "Sorry, it's Smash. She's— I mean, she's usually—" EXACTLY LIKE THIS, don't lie, Tiri. He breaks off blowing out a breath as he pushes up from his knee to get on his feet so he can stop trying to take in the others still so very right here from his awkward position down there. "Well, I'm usually better at not sharing my—" whatever he was feeling that he does not name. So far the half-completed sentences don't seem to be doing much to actually provide an explanation. This latest one is a break off because Tiridyn is surveying the series of wicked scratches now adorning the back of his hands, as best he can from where he has literally trapped tucked the green firelizard against his midsection. When he picks up, it's disjointedly, "See, I came to see Journeyman Averil as a—" another one, dropped and he picks up, "And my friend, Ru'ien," that name seemed to help before so it's included again, "who took me to this dance with poles and drinks and—" NOT RELEVANT, TIRIDYN. "Anyway, he had said that Averil— the Journeyman— uh—" A helpless gesture goes to Averil as if in all this, the thing that might be in doubt is somehow his identity? "That he liked bows. So I brought a bow." A bow now abandoned on the floor. "Because I was going to ask for his time to listen and his time is valuable, so he should have something for it and—" It's here that it seems to be about here that Tiridyn finally tunes in from the diversion of the momentary firelizard-driven uproar and realizes this is going about as well as his previous attempts to explain. "Sorry," to Shiloh, "sorry," to Averil, and a deep breath to ask, just once more, "Can I start over?" At least Smash seems to have gone quiescent where she's confined, so there's that small blessing. And look, he didn't even point the finger at Nope.

Avi has the good sense to immediately look contrite at Shiloh's annoyance, his head ducking for just long enough to banish the grin dancing on his lips. "I'm not sure if he's right in the head," he whispers. And Tiridyn's dropped sentences? NOT HELPING. Not at all. "He said something about moving to Fort." Not exactly what was said, but Avi is having a hard time keeping track of everything at this point. Inching closer to Shiloh, it is only when he is standing half behind the beastcrafter, that he sweeps his back to Tiridyn. Again, Ru'ien's name is mentioned and that is the only thing that keeps Avi from thinking that this is a complete and utter madman. "Poles? You were going to ask for my time?" Hopefully not to pole dance. "With a bow?" Because surely poles have to fit into this whole thing somewhere? Right? Falling silent, he turns a confused look up to Shiloh's face, one hand waving in an airy gesture of confusion. "He mentioned a girl and Fort.. But the only person I know in Fort is the author I'm doing that commission for." And somehow, he can't imagine that K'zre has anything to do with any of this.

Shiloh can be a very patient man depending on the circumstances. It kind of comes with the job. Training young runners takes a good deal of control and patience; the ability to read emotions and project calm (or aggression) when necessary. While people are definitely not runners, some of the skills probably translate. So while Shiloh has zero patience for those that are arrogant (or idiotic), he’s seemed to have decided that Tiridyn is neither of those things right now and so… will let him start and stop and start again with little more than a lofted brow (because look, he’s still human, okay? And a mite peeved at being called out here when it seems like Avi is more amused than anything else). A slide of dark eyes to the artist as he slips to his side, and then back to Tiridyn once again. He at least offers a little wince of sympathy for those scratches (definitely been there, even if it was sharp, pointy teeth that tend to mark up his hands). Poles and bows and Ru’ien and time. And Fort Weyr. No. It’s not really adding up and Shiloh’s not going to pretend that it is. He just stands, resisting the urge to cross his arms over his chest by stuffing his fingers into his pockets, and stares at Tiridyn. “Probably a good idea,” he drawls, for starting over. “Let’s start from the top. You came to see Averil — with a bow…” and this time his gaze slides to the poor, discarded object on the floor. “For what purpose?”

"No, I am, I promise." Tiridyn is quick to chime in in defense of his sanity. "Not move to Fort." That much, too, can be quickly clarified even if it might make things more confusing for Avi's point of view. This just— I mean, sideways doesn't really begin to cover how this has gone." And that probably explains the blush risen in his cheeks. "I— yeah. Just let me—" is in answer to Shiloh's willingness to hear out a fourth try. But what he needs to do involve going a bit of a distance down the corridor, giving the other two a chance for a semi-private moment while Tiridyn gets that distance and kneels to roll the green out of his shirt onto the ground and deliver some words (that seem much too soft to be any kind of proper scolding) along with some reassuring scritches, before the, "Smash - home," can be heard and while it's a moment that flirts with the idea of additional disaster, she squawks-more-than-warbles some kind of not entirely agreeable rejoinder but nevertheless leaps into the air and pops between before Tiridyn is heading back their way, trying to fix his shirt without leaving behind too many spots of blood to trouble the laundry with and reaching into his leather messenger bag to draw out what is probably a heather gray woven scarf, but is now going to be set the purpose of temporary bandage for the hand that once had that pretty yellow bow SO INNOCENTLY OFFERED that took the brunt of those tiny claws to encourage the clotting of any little bleeders. If no one has bothered to by the time he's coming back, he'll sweep a dip down to collect the bow into his other hand and set about brushing it off on his pant leg before offering anything verbally.

"I'm sorry," Avi murmurs to Shiloh as Tiridyn steps away. "I was startled when he came to our room and things just spiraled out of control from there. Nope just happened to appear when I was agitated." Really, he knows it's his fault for letting old fears and bad memories dictate his responses. "I don't think he means anything untoward?" The words are coupled with a glance toward Tiridyn and Smash, a flush of embarrassment staining his cheeks. It is Tiridyn's return and the wrapping of his hand that inspires a faint wince. "I think we have redwort in the room…"

There might (definitely) be a sigh of frustration as Tiridyn moves off to deal with giant green demons his firelizard. But, having a slippery, biting monster of his own (currently still curled comfortably around Avi’s neck as if he’s not at all responsible for at least half this madness), he at least understands it. So Tiri can go off and deal with Smash, while Avi apologizes and Shiloh sighs. “We’ll talk about it later,” is his answer to all that, less of a brush off and more as a means of putting off what might be a private conversation for later. In truth, Shiloh is not so upset about having been called all the way back to the caverns, so much as simply trying to reconcile all that adrenaline and ‘go-go-go’ with a scene that he was not expecting to see. And now that adrenaline has nowhere to go, and he’s left with… well. Frustration. And a rather stern expression that lands on Tiridyn as he returns to rescue discarded yellow bows from the floor and (hopefully) explain the true reason for his having knocked on that door to begin with. So, there’s an arched eyebrow and a look of expectation, even as Averil is offering the comfort of basic first aid. Shy will just ignore that. For about three seconds before he huffs a disgruntled, ”We also have numbweed,” because that seems the polite-ish thing to do.

He must have been marshalling his words on the way back, ordering them and hoping they'll roll out better this time, but he's given pause with the offers of healing care to start there instead, "Thank you. I'm— I'll be fine. There was a healer here I wanted to see after—" this. "This just gives me a better reason to seek him out." He flashes a smile, takes a breath and begins. "I'm Tiridyn," the young man opens up with (again) as to lean himself up against a bit of wall so that he's as far from Avi them as can comfortably be while at conversational, but not close, range. "I'm from Fort. I'm here to ask Journeyman Averil for a moment of his time— well, some moments anyway— to consider giving more moments of his time, to a friend of mine, Zurii. She's an artist, but doesn't have any Hall training and isn't looking to go and apprentice or become a paying student at the Hall, but she's really good," according to Tiridyn the clerk, who does not know about art except what he's told by those who know better. "A journeyman's time, particularly a talented journeyman," as he has surely been told Averil is by whomever he got the name from originally, "should be compensated for their time, but our resources are— well, I'm a stores clerk and she doesn't even know I'm here, and doesn't really have any marks to her name anyway, so I was hoping to speak with the Journeyman," he gives a gesture to Averil because he's really directing his words now to Shiloh, "and work out some kind of deal that would be satisfactory, for — I'm not sure, lessons, maybe? Or just someone who knows about art for her to talk to about art?" Something. This is a man trying to do a good deed and floundering. "Either here or there." There being Fort Weyr. Much of that explanation is, in fact, a replica of the first one he tried to offer, but in order, with a few more helpful details. "The bow was because my friend, Ru'ien, said Averil liked bows. I thought bringing one— some, I have a few— might be enough to be willing to speak with me." Perhaps that he mentioned his profession explains his outlook that these sorts of things are frequently a tit-for-tat dealing with most people, maybe talented crafters particularly.

Averil has the good sense to lower his head at Shiloh's assurance they will discuss it later. Fortunately, he also has the good sense to cover the embarrassment by tidying the knot of hair wound intricately at the nape of his neck. He's listening, though, pale grey eyes slanting toward Tiridyn as the clerk speaks. Glancing up at Shiloh, he steps a shade closer, smoothing a wrinkle out of his skirts as he does so. "If you can arrange for her to come here? That would be better for me," he admits. Clearly, or not, he is agreeing to the arrangement— whether that is out of embarrassment for their whole meeting? Who can say? It is. "I have commissions I am working on, of course, but she's welcome to sit and paint with me in my studio. I'm sure I can find a subject willing to pose, if she is amenable to life drawing, as well?" Ru'ien, he means Ru'ien, or maybe Shiloh if he can rope the beastcrafter into it. but he's not going to volunteer the greenrider before speaking to him. "I do like bows," he adds matter of factly. "That will be a more then sufficient bribery for my time. Of course, I would want to know how frequently we are talking about meeting," he adds. "I would prefer no more than once a sevenday, if possible." He does have his own work to do, after all. "More, of course, if she proves to be skilled at her art. But I would prefer to meet her before making any hard and fast promises on that front. Preferably," he adds with a light clearing of his throat. "In the living cavern and with a heads up that she is coming?”

Shiloh is also listening. It might not be the sort of listening that is very encouraging seeing as it comes with a lot of eye-narrowing and suspicious frowning. “At least that explains the bow.” Is he teasing? Hard to say, the words rather dry and without much in the way of amusement to temper it. At the end of it all, it’s probably pretty clear that the beastcrafter has questions. Lots of questions. But with Averil stepping in to speak, he keeps them to himself. With the confusion calming down, he slides back a bit, giving the two space to discuss without his interference. “Send Nope if you need me,” comes in a quick aside, along with a kiss to Avi’s temple, before Shy is oh so subtly sliding his way back down the hall and, presumably, back to work.

If Tiridyn's head swivels between the Harper and the Beastcrafter as Shiloh is taking his leave, it's only because he came— he went— and though the clerk picked up some of why he appeared, he's clearly missed the boat on most of it. Dark eyes blink briefly after Shiloh, but make no attempt to stop him, since it was really Averil he had come to see. Tentatively, the bow is extended once more toward the Harper. "I'll have to see. Her parents might not like it." He did say she was young. It's possible he was hoping the journeyman might journey in this case. "I can try." He does add which might not be wholly reassuring. There's only a small beat before he adds, "I was— I mean, that's rather more than I was hoping for straight off. I thought probably," a little gesture (with bow if Avi hasn't taken it, or without if he has) as though to indicate 'as you suggest,' "A meeting would be the best way to go. Let the two of you work out if— what else might be. I mean, I'm not sure how one becomes an artist outside of the craft. Except, you know, to do art." That does seem fairly logical and clearly she has at least one connection for moving her art once it's made, in theory. What this all translates to is that this was one vastly over-prepared man for the small ask he was actually making. Nevertheless, if the first bow is accepted, he'll fish out a small package and extend it. The rest of the bows, of course, but these neatly wrapped in soft cloth and tied with a string.

Averil watches Shiloh go, the expression on his face that sort of dopey, le sigh look that one would be mortified to know was visible to the rest of the world pretty much making it clear (or strongly suggesting) why the beastcrafter was there. It is only Tiridyn speaking that has him giving a little shake of his head of his head, his brows furrowing mildly. "How… young is young," he asks curiously. "I mean, you do know that a lot of my art involves nudes? Not all of it, clearly.. Eh." Stepping closer to take the bow, he holds it carefully in his hand, his lips turning up in a quiet smile. "We'll work something out that will work for her parents, as well. The wonderful thing about art is that I don't have to be right there with her to teach her anything. Granted, that's ideal, but really?" Pausing a beat, he adds. "I will want to see her work, of course. And I'm assuming, since you are talking to me, that she's a painter, or.. I.. Find out from her parents what would be most comfortable for everyone involved regarding meeting initially. I can't promise to be in Fort with any sort of regularity, but I will absolutely do what I can." Art is Art. He does, however, pause a beat. "If you make the arrangements, we'll work it out." Taking the parcel, he frowns faintly, his fingers drumming on the string tied cloth. "I need to know…" he murmurs. "What does a pole have to do with any of this?"

Tiridyn's mouth opens once— then closes when Averil has finished speaking. Maybe he was going to answer one or another of the questions, but he waits out everything the artist has to say before sucking in a breath and judiciously pausing to consider his words (for once~). "I— think maybe I'm not being clear again." There's a shift on the wall, though he doesn't move away from it. "This is a surprise." That isn't helping to clarify, but maybe the next will. "I wanted to make a contact for her. I'm not sure what exactly she'll want once you two meet. I just—" His brows knit, "I want her to have a shot at doing what she loves." There, that came out right, there's a little shrug and smile, "And I thought meeting someone who does the kind of thing she loves to do as a profession might help… somehow." Even he's not clear on that. What might now be clear is that where before things were going wrong before, things are now going wrong again (if for the opposite reason - that Averil's willingness far exceeds what Tiridyn came to ask). "So it might be lessons, or just— a mentor or— I don't know, maybe even just the chance to make a friend." He bites his lower lip an uncertain moment before flashing a smile to offer, "She's really great." Considering though that Tiri's sanity and safety have been called into question already, maybe that's not the most solid endorsement. "It would be best to leave her parents out of it if at all possible," he adds but doesn't explain, going right on with, "She's sixteen." So young, but honestly not that much younger than either of them (or at least, not so much that it will matter in a handful of turns). "I think she'd be better at telling you what you want to know, since I'm doing such a fantastic job of making everything confusing. And it's—" Here comes an almost full-force burst of sunshine smile for Averil, "It's really amazing that you're as willing as you are, and please don't think I'm not grateful." He is, he just wants to rein it all back a little, "I just— I mean, I'm just her friend. I can't actually make commitments or anything for her." He wasn't sent; he's just a FREE AGENT RUNNING AMOK. He does think to add, "I don't think nudity is any kind of problem. I mean, we're both Weyrbred and — a body is just a body, right?" UNLESS IT'S A PARTICULAR SOMEONE'S BODY, but the last thing they need is to GO THERE in this conversation, so it's good that he shrugs and says, "A pole really doesn't. I think I got— well. Nothing was coming out right." But hopefully he's doing better now. He shifts his now free hand back to the wrapping on his opposite hand to put more pressure on the scratches there.

"Oh." Blinking once, Avi takes a moment to let everything shift and reconnect in his head, reorganizing the various bits of information until they make sense. "Well. I don't know what to say," he admits. He does, however, hold out the package of bows, offering with a quiet smile. "You don't have to bribe me to meet her, Tiridyn. I actually do have a commission for some art that is centered in Fort Weyr so going to visit, if only to get a better look is not entirely out of the question. I'm sure, when that happens, that something could be arranged. Or not, given things change. In the meantime, if she wants to write me? I'd be happy to offer advice, or whatever comes up at the time?" Now that things are marginally calmer, he adds. "And you have my apologies. I'm… not very good with strangers."

Now it's Tiridyn's turn to not take the bows. In fact, his hands move abruptly to tuck around behind his back, surely he can keep pressure on things just as well that way. His lips press together but pull up at the edges. "I'm usually really good with strangers." But clearly not this time. "So consider them an apology. And a peace offering. And— I honestly got them for you." He doesn't really have hair long enough for them, anyway, and spiffy though his outfit is, if he has some of Avi's same tastes, it's not apparent in his apparel now. "If you'd like a native guide when you're in Fort though, or just a familiar face, feel free to find me, whether Zurii's wanting to meet then or not." Because, really, despite all this fumbling, Tiri's a good guy. "Ru'ien will vouch for me, if you ask him." He's sure about that. "Did you know his dragon's an artist, too?" Maybe that's using the term 'artist' a little loosely, and maybe he's just doomed Averil to things he'll never be able to unsee, but maybe Avi's already been told about Kihatsuth's artistic side. That last seems to be a tangent, really. "Not that I'm asking you to move to Fort," he makes this clear, "but it's a great Weyr." He did say Weyrbred - this one apparently possessive native loyalty. "I guess you didn't have a chance when you were apprenticing? Or were you at Landing University?" Either would account for having been trained as a Harper but not ever having gone the relatively short jaunt it is into the mountains to see the Weyr once responsible for the safety of the valley below, when Thread was a threat.

Averil glances down at the parcel of bows in his hand, his brows furrowing mildly as he slants a glance back up to Tiridyn's face. Unfortunately, with anyone who is not Tejra or Shiloh, he's impossibly awkward and it immediately shows in the way he shifts uncomfortably in place. "I grew up at Ista Weyr," he admits in quiet tones. "Not that. I suppose technically that makes me weyrbred." It does. "I.. I went to Harper Hall very young. I was lucky," he admits. "But visiting places? Traveling? I.. Didn't.. I kept to myself. There might have been trips to Fort Weyr early on, but I don't remember them." Pausing a beat, he adds. "I'm sorry," since Tiridyn is clearly so very fond of his home. "I don't generally do very well with crowds, or people," he admits. Of course, the whys and wherefores are not something he is comfortable getting into, the thought of it inspiring one hand to drift down and twist in his skirts. "But I will," he adds. "Send you word, when I come to Fort. I'm not sure when that will be," he adds quickly. "But as soon as I know and plans are made…" Well, he can work it out from there. With all that being said, his changing the subject is quick and done with a wry smile. "I've heard that Kihatsuth has an artistic side, but I've never had the opportunity to see it."

If Tiridyn looks a little puzzled about Averil's apology, it might be because he doesn't see what the other man is apologizing for. There's a little shrug, a little half-smile. It's amiable if perhaps less openly so than he was attempting earlier in the conversation. "Travel isn't for everyone," seems perhaps an unobjectionable comment to make. "Even back at Fort, I know loads of people who don't stray far from home." Clearly, he is not one of them. "Thank you for hearing me out, Journeyman." He offers with a flash of warmth in his smile. "I'd best go get this attended to." He pulls out his hand, wrapped in his scarf and lifts it a little to indicate. "I'll speak with Zurii about everything when I get back." This might be a departure from what he originally planned, but if anything, maybe this conversation has made clear to him that perhaps a surprise like this wasn't his best idea ever, for perhaps several reasons, none of which surely include Averil's willingness once everything was straightened out. "Have a good evening," he offers, with another slightly dimmed but still trademark smiles before he's pushing off the wall to retreat the way he must have come.

Add a New Comment
Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 License