sapio | open.

Mora is such a dangerous concept. It makes or destroys individuals, the latter being true most of the time. Whether it's due to a surplus or poverty, Kaveh has had a taste of both sides. Helping others is where true happiness lies, and even so, he can hardly do that unless he uses mora in some way.

He's trying to convince himself in the back of his mind that Fontaine might suit him more. Even after Sages were overthrown, most people here still don't understand the value of an artist.

"When is rent not an issue? Of course I am. And on top of that, all the debt, too. Let's just enjoy ourselves and eat. This conversation is going to suck the taste off of the food," a sigh jets out, he looks the other way - towards his glass of wine, and picks it up to chug.

It's not like he can stop Kaveh from drinking, though he does know how that often ends. Alhaitham doesn't even frown when the architect tries to dismiss inconvenient conversation over a drink, because he's witnessed that just as frequently. The former tends to be a product of the latter, in fact.

If the money sent to his mother is nothing but a common worry about which Alhaitham has been a soundboard for Kaveh to get his ideas in order and his frustrations out of his system before, then there must be another variable to have him ask about his thoughts on the place. The question is what variable that would be?

Though Alhaitham prefers a certain method to find out when it comes to the Light of Kshahrewar: just bluntly asking. "Why are you asking me about Fontaine, then?"

It is true that his dismissal is almost hypocritical. Kaveh's chest is full of unspoken words that he would rather choke on than admit. "I just wanted your opinion on the situation there, that's all. Everything else, well, that can wait for another time. It's drinking time now," it's almost like he's telling himself that to avoid going on about the topic after he inevitably gets drunk.

Though he still waits until their food arrives, he wants to at least enjoy the feast, too. Another dinner, another debt. "How come you never have anything to complain about? How does your arm feel?"

"Well, if you must know: I find it rather concerning," he'll admit to his roommate because if he's worried, then perhaps he can work as a sanity check, a reassurance that Kaveh is not worrying over nothing. "It's good that your mother is moving, but I do wonder why we haven't heard of an initiative at a larger scale." Granted, logistics and construction would definitely be a concern, but Fontaine is one of the most advanced places in terms of technology. Surely, they'd think of something?

He should try and find some books about it. That and, if the Traveler's path is to be of any reference, he's sure they'll head to Fontaine soon after they've explored enough of Sumeru to find some answers, at least.

The food does arrive fairly quickly. The order was simple, and Lambad had the proper meat for the wraps always ready to be sliced for a quick meal. It's one of the most innovative things about the tavern, really. Perhaps aligned with the design of the second floor. Alhaitham's lip quirks, but it may just be because he's glad the food has finally arrived. "It stings when I move. Why, would it make you feel better if I complained about it all the time?"

"I didn't say she would be moving, but that she may have no choice," he clarifies quickly before taking another sip of wine. The depth in which his feelings go for the situation is driving nails into his heart. Sometimes Kaveh doesn't have to speak to tell someone what's bothering him. Still, there are many more thoughts that still plague him and they all revolve around the man sitting in front of him.

"Uhm. Then don't move so much. It's not about me wanting to hear all about your complaints. Your life... Is just...Well, nevermind," he's perfect is what he's trying to say. It's the perfect time now to busy his mouth by stuffing it with some food.

Any other time and Alhaitham would point out that the logistics of moving, regardless of choice or not, still existed and that's what he had referred to, but for now, he takes a rather large bite of his wrap. Immediately he realizes he really needed it — the exhaustion of the previous day still needed some recovering.

"How am I supposed to not move it, then? Doing this with one hand is only going to spell disaster," though the Scribe does hone in on the faltering of that end of the sentence, Alhaitham quickly makes a few deductions. "Do you honestly believe I don't have anything to complain about in my life?"

The spices are perfection, sating every starving bit of him. It's not so hot or spicy, and yet the flavors are still impactful. He's glad Alhaitham settled for two separate servings.
"Um," under ideal circumstances, Kaveh might throw a flirty line. It's bitter swallowing the words. "Not that I would know, you don't talk about your issues with me."

That's the second time in a row that he watches Kaveh falter. Usually, he's snappier. He remembers how they used to go unrelentingly back and forth. More than how they found each other insufferable and stubborn, chasing after that last word, Alhaitham knows that they were worse for those who were not part of the conversation and were mere bystanders who happened upon their long discussions and bickering.

What exactly changed here? Their fallout? Before that? After? He's unsure of the timeline.

He takes his time chewing, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. He flicks his hand in half a shrug, the motion making him only wince to anyone with a sharp eye. "I could start complaining how last night's circumstances only prove me right in the sense that kind of work should be conducted in another way, and how upset I am that it ruined my dinner plans. But I see the point to do it when it's something I can't do anything about."

Alhaitham sits in front of him, so within reach. Yet nebulas away from the shadow they used to be. Kaveh’s hostility is a guarded anchor and what he believes will keep them bound. Because what else do they have otherwise?

“If you still want me going with you then I will. You seldom find yourself hurt, you should still talk to the sages, too. Perhaps they will let you have a matra join you when things like that arise. I can’t believe that guy still has followers, what a disgrace to Sumeru and its people,” the wine makes him ramble, but he’s not drunk yet. He just wants to feel numb enough.

Kaveh notices his wincing, but offers no words in regards. He simply sends odd a scolding with his gaze, and drinks more wine. To Kaveh, Alhaitham’s body speaks far louder, he always has.

On the surface of things, it would all look normal. Alhaitham's tendency to sit while leaning back, Kaveh's own to lean forward, making the table hold the weight of his chest. The snaps and comebacks and retorts are a constant, the challenge being volleyed between them. Nothing seems to have changed.

Except, underneath the table, their legs and knees used to bump, to rest on each other, ankles hooked, feet nudging each other to make a point, to add a little flare to innuendo, to tell the other to shut up after a particularly bad inside joke. Now, everything is quiet under the lacquered surface, even if Alhaitham's legs are still thrown forward, just a little sideways.

Alhaitham rolls his eyes in a way to tell Kaveh he knows, it's just something he can't avoid every now and then. He glances at his own cup of wine, perfectly aware that the alcohol in it would make his blood thinner. Things tend to spill out unannounced when too much of it is involved. But he reckons this quantity shouldn't be enough to cause damage.

He's been wrong before.

"I'll send word to Cyno," is his roundabout way of reassuring the architect. "Would you really go with me even if you were busy with a client, though?" He takes a sip of his drink, already knowing the answer, but still throwing the question, anyway.

Kaveh is hyperaware of everything that's missing. It's a lot more painful than anything else he has experienced, watching someone he yearns for feel farther and farther each passing day. He convinced himself long ago that they're not compatible, and so he suffers with every sip of wine.

"What's that about, I know you agree with me," he quips back at his demeanor and takes another bite of food. Kaveh pulls his ankles back under his chair to ensure they never touch Alhaitham. Every motion has thought, every thought drains him of energy.
"I wouldn't be busy with a client, assuming you told me in advance when you plan to investigate the issue again. But the short answer is yes. Mehrak is quite useful when disputes turn physical."

"Yes, but you know how habits are difficult to tone down," he replies before he finishes his own wrap. He's tempted to order another. Maybe half of one, if Kaveh still wants to eat some more.

It's odd how absence works. Kaveh and Alhaitham are still present in each other's lives, it's odd when they have a day where they don't see each other at least once. And yet, it's as though their presence means absence.

He had once read that presence solidified relationships, and absence sharpened the feelings within them.

While he had wondered what happened if that were the case, when you had both, now he does know. It feels like a weapon, suffocating in its weight, hurtful in the edge of the void it creates. "I doubt we'll need to enter a dispute if we think about our approach carefully." He gingerly crosses his arms as he leans back, glancing at his own arm to check on the bandages Kaveh wrapped. "Tomorrow evening, then. There's space in my schedule."

It's apparent that Kaveh has had his fill with his wrap. He sets the plate aside so he can keep on his leisure drinking. Kaveh almost takes his words personally, the alcohol does offer him a padding to emotions in some cases. Truthfully, it's hard to tell what Alhaitham might be up against when Kaveh gets drunk.

There are reasons why Kaveh normally picks at Alhaitham's habit of disappearing in his free time. In real terms, none of them should be concerned with what the other does, yet they always find themselves exploring that line of thinking. At least Kaveh has a better idea now, as his gaze also roams to the wrapping on his arm.
His innate curiosity about Alhaitham is not something he's willing to part with yet.
"W-Wait, tomorrow?! But you haven't had a chance to heal yet! And the evening is the most dangerous time, too, are you crazy?"

That's when Alhaitham leans in and picks up the remnants Kaveh left on his plate. No 'are you going to eat that' or questioning look, he just goes for it. Despite the void their conflict created, the comfort between them still lingers; Alhaitham has no qualms about invading Kaveh's personal space, touching things that are still warm from the architect's touch, flicking sand out of each other's clothes.

That curiosity, though, is not something that his avian eyes have missed, but the Scribe has trouble understanding. Sure, even the ever-knowing Cyno wonders what he's up to, but he never really thought that just because he never replied to a non-existent question of where he was and what he was doing, that it would latch some odd air of mystery to him. Then again, in most cases, it's a good thing that no one ever actually comes forth to ask.

On the other hand, he finds the answer rather obvious: what else would he be doing, if not reading in a quiet spot in town, pausing occasionally to consider what he just read, to rest his eyes in the environment around him, to bird watch, to have a drink or to look around the market? What else would he be doing if not working during his appointed schedule? It's not like he's been interested in anything (or anyone) else. Most of the things he's been doing that go out of his routine and relative peace are brought upon the people he had met while taking down Azar. Nilou, inviting him over to watch her latest show, or to fact check a script; Tighnari, when their work intersects somehow, and Cyno when he finds him haggling the price for a particular TCG card. Dehya, when work brings her into the city, and Candace, insisting, in that 'no other option available' manner of hers, on him staying for dinner when he comes by Aaru Village.

Kaveh, at home, taking care of groceries, telling him to join him in a game of cards and some drinks. When they both need coffee and they don't have any at home.

He takes a bite out of the wrap and takes his time chewing while he watches his roommate sputter. "That's exactly why we should go then; while the trail is still warm, and when it's most likely to find them in activity, is it not?"

Edited 2023-05-29 15:35 (UTC)

He misses what it means to accompany him places, even their usual dinner plans like this. Kaveh, being far more sentimental, still struggles to make of Alhaitham a simple familiar face or a friend. The void of their meaning is a constant ache in his chest, one he often disregards in hopes that it rots away on its own. He doesn't talk about it to anybody, he's even reluctant to write about it in his sketchbook. Kaveh believes if he were to give it a definition, they might truly become permanently broken.
Still, it's not any less painful than the shell he feels they are now.

He lets him take his leftovers. Kaveh would never pick a fight for it. Even when it comes to Alhaitham, he leans into the fulfilling sensation of giving. He finishes his second cup of wine.
"That, ugh," he pinches his nose, "fine. I'll have to take the morning tomorrow to do some cleaning and pack anything we might need for the trip. But if your arm is still giving you issues," even if they are nonexistent, he's just concerned, "then it's okay to postpone," one could argue that his is tipsy commentary and that he's slowly forgoing the control of where his thoughts are heading. "You always think you're sooo invincible."

After years of living with Kaveh, and some others living with Kaveh, Alhaitham could pinpoint the tells in the architect's voice, body, and even the way he looks at him when alcohol makes his blood sing and the rage against any boundaries that had been weighing on the man lifts them off his shoulders.

The first tell: frustration, losing footing on his train of thought, then grasping it again with a vengeance. He had once heard that artists are fueled by inspiration, feeling, but also spite.

The Scribe reaches for his own glass of wine, and minutely shakes his head when he sees the person at the counter look over at them and wonder if they need another bottle.

He was still on his first glass, and Kaveh was a cheap drunk. They won't be needing more. Small blessings.

The second tell: worry. About his own affairs, only to be overrun by worries over other things, other people, be they close, or just someone he had seen that day. It concerns him, of course, because that's the core of Kaveh's being exposed, like the soft underbelly of a predator: a giving nature to its own detriment. Alhaitham knows he's no exception, and for a while, that didn't bother him. In fact, it made him feel—

—unnecessary. He stops in his tracks and pinpoints the third tell: heckling. "I have never claimed to be."

Kaveh knows deep down how frustration resonates in two ways: Alhaitham watching him self-destruct and words having virtually no effect in how Kaveh presents himself to the world. He's not just stubborn about his ideals, but he might never give up on his nature until he hits actual rock bottom. However it may make Alhaitham feel, if he feels anything at all, one thing is certain: there is no saving Kaveh.

As the minutes tick, his brain fizzles. The alcohol amplifies his already volatile reactions, not that he ever means true harm in bickering with him. If anything, it's the only thing that comes close to comfort. He crosses his arms. "Haah, as if you need to. With that attitude of yours," he hiccups, glancing over at the staff member silently nodding Alhaitham's signage. "I can tell that you think it . . . to some degree. Why wouldn't you ask for help in the first place? Hm?"

Their bickering is warm, and comforting, but dangerous if poked too much, if a wrong word is uttered. It's a bonfire, in that sense, the threat everpresent if the unpredictable breeze decides to peak. Alhaitham tilts his head after he's finished eating, hair falling onto one eye as he fixes the architect with the other pensively for a moment. He's comfortable with silences—prefers them, in fact,—but instead of thinking about the why, indeed, he's more curious about another thing, and he leans forward, his crossed arms resting on the table: "That's a very good question. Why wouldn't I?"

No matter how many displeasures stem from his past with him, Kaveh still secretly holds Alhaitham's wellbeing higher than his own. He owes him, after all. "That's...Exactly what I'm trying to say. Why wouldn't you?! You're being difficult. Or are you feigning your ignorance? Anyway, as much as I'd like to drink more wine, we have a long day ahead tomorrow."

He pushes his hands on the table to help himself get up, "it wont do either of us any good to stay up later than we need to, and you really need to rest your arm!"

"I merely wanted to hear if you had any assumptions about it," which, perhaps, is a little cruel, to have Kaveh voice and air out why he's not reaching out to him for help, albeit Alhaitham himself pegs it only onto how he is: not one to do so unless strictly necessary.

While mostly composed, Alhaitham is not without his tells himself. His eyes skim over Kaveh's form as he stands up, from those rather beautiful if deceptively strong fingers to the set of his shoulders as he pushes himself upright, the way his eyebrows knit just under that stubborn lock of hair. He's checking on him to ensure he won't fall or stumble and can in fact stand, regardless. That's what Alhaitham tells himself, anyway. There's a slight shift to the Scribe's face as he hears that last claim. Two, fast blinks, a curious slant of his own brow. "How does one rest an arm, exactly?"

“As opposed to answering my question properly in the first place-!” He’s not so out of his mind that walking will be an issue, even if he feels light as a feather.
Before he leaves he turns to wave at the staff, showering them in drunken praise, “delicious as always—! See you soon!”

Kaveh is the one who grabs the door open for themselves to leave, more or less because he can’t actually keep still or keep hands to himself.
The flow in his clothes normally disguises his true strength, not that he could take Alhaitham down by any means.
He glances at him, his bandaged arm specifically, “you sleep on your side, and avoid using it too much.” It’s almost like he speaks from experience, which it could be. Spending so much time with materials in the field is bound to go wrong at some point, especially the heavier ones. “Are you still messing with me?”

The Scribe takes more measured, but methodical steps. A quick exchange of mora for the meal and drinks, some more to pay for the tab he has at the tavern (and he will never unhear the joke Cyno once said about a 'tabern'… 'Because tab. Tavern. Get it?') and a quick wave to follow after his roommate.

"Is it so wrong to want to hear what's on your mind first?" he asks, though frowns even if he does consider doing exactly that, a comment on how he usually sleeps on his back and if that's alright dying on his lips.

"How am I messing with you now?" It would, apparently, hurt Alhaitham to sound a little bit more earnest. Instead, it verges on exasperated, if weakly so.

“What’s the point in expanding on my line of thinking when I’m always met with some witty jab or critique of yours,” he sighs, gazing up at the silence of the night and how it caresses the leaves on tree branches. The moonlight passes through them just right, it makes interesting shapes that he can’t help but admire.

“You always mess with me,” he responds softly, dreaming, still absorbed in how the breeze feels through his clothes and hair. Every thought floats through his mind and he glances at him again. “Taking things so literally, and all. Anyway. You go on ahead. I want to stop by the pavilions. I should have brought my sketchbook.”

"And here I thought you enjoyed a divergent point of view," light refracts beautifully in Sumeru City, he'll give it that. Kaveh's crimson eyes get a little darker in the evenings, and somehow they always seem to capture the light. Once in the early years of their friendship, the then-aspiring architect had talked to him about how lighting was everything to an artist, be they architects, painters, sculptors, and even the latest trend from Fontaine, photographers. A young Alhaitham had noticed then, how light seemed to chase after Kaveh instead, how his eyes carried the littlest embers even when something reminded him of his parents, what could have been, what ifs. He had stared, oftentimes, serene when caught, unabashed.

He had named it appreciating beauty for once. At least that explanation had lasted for a while. When Kaveh looks at him, ruffled gently by the fragrant breeze of saffron and rose, he wonders how exactly it took him so long to realize it's not the case. "I'll go with you."

Kaveh will never cease his explanations to him on why and how art is so vital to their existence. He accepts that Alhaitham can't wrap his head around the concept, tragic as that is. They're like a sun and moon, opposites and yet equals, both giving meaning to the shift of night and day.

The Akademiya is void of people this hour, it truly makes for a different sight in the gardens where bioluminescence thrives. He remembers the first time he first invited Alhaitham here in hopes he would find the scenery better to get lost in his books.
"Take your headphones off. There's no way you can truly appreciate your surroundings this hour wearing them," otherwise, why bother following me? "Notice how the forest below almost appears black, yet in our minds we know that's not the case. Our minds fill in the absence of information with the facts we know. Put aside the facts for a moment, and you don't see a forest, or a tree, but different strokes in different shapes littered with kisses from the moonlight. Don't tell me you don't think it's beautiful, at least."

heh, thank you!

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Tabern. Goodbye

i'm so sorry

we love cyno here