[It's the smaller sylvari who answers first, relaxed and friendly while the other seems to make it a point to stay stern-faced and cool.] It's fine. Don't worry about him. [He shoots the other sylvari a quick look that's seemingly reproachful, but the sort of reproach that doesn't really disguise all the affection underneath.] The domest-o-matic already took care of the whole thing. It took your jacket to clean too--gone before I even knew it--but I'm sure it will be back soon. And Vrenille is a gem. We're lucky to have him.
[The first sylvari, whose eyes are now once more on his newspaper, gives a passing Hm at this, which could be agreement...or mild dissension, or any number of other things.
Vrenille, looking a little sheepish, takes the opportunity to make introductions.] Kyinnlen, [small, cheery] Sesyria, [grumpy, nearsighted] this is Jericho.
[But introductions are the easy part. It doesn't change the fact that he knows this whole situation has just swung right out of his control. Because Kyinnlen is sly as hell, and the moment he made that remark about Jericho's jacket, Vrenille just knows that he's already read the awkwardness and the strain and has decided that he is by no means simply going to leave things to flow their course.
He could be accused of meddling, certainly, but without Kyinnlen's meddling and his patient persistence, his refusal to give up on stubborn people even when they say they don't want his help, Vrenille wouldn't be here. There's no more sense in arguing with Kyinnlen than there is in trying to tell the sun not to shine on you.
The difference is that Vrenille has long since accepted this as a fact of life--long since, but not nearly so long that he can't remember how scary it first was, how vulnerable he felt, how much it hurt to feel the things it made him feel. And he really has no idea what Jericho might do with it. It would have been one thing to bring him down here when everything felt comfortable and intimate between them, with a cushion of dreamily safe feelings to pad it. It feels like something else entirely now that they've both been pierced by the shattering of illusion. Now it's like being arrested on the cusp of retreat by someone who is fundamentally unwilling to watch people break themselves stupidly apart.]
Come sit down and have some breakfast. [Kyinnlen gestures to the table as he puts down his mug.] There's fresh coffee and I was just brewing another pot of tea. I'm sure you need to eat after the night you had.
[Vrenille gives Jericho a careful, questioning look. He wants him to stay, wants this to be all right, but it's not up to him (though he seems to be the only person in the room who currently thinks so).]
Yes, it would be terribly rude to bleed and run, [Sesyria pointedly raises his gaze from his paper to look at Jericho directly once more,] wouldn't you agree.
no subject
[The first sylvari, whose eyes are now once more on his newspaper, gives a passing Hm at this, which could be agreement...or mild dissension, or any number of other things.
Vrenille, looking a little sheepish, takes the opportunity to make introductions.] Kyinnlen, [small, cheery] Sesyria, [grumpy, nearsighted] this is Jericho.
[But introductions are the easy part. It doesn't change the fact that he knows this whole situation has just swung right out of his control. Because Kyinnlen is sly as hell, and the moment he made that remark about Jericho's jacket, Vrenille just knows that he's already read the awkwardness and the strain and has decided that he is by no means simply going to leave things to flow their course.
He could be accused of meddling, certainly, but without Kyinnlen's meddling and his patient persistence, his refusal to give up on stubborn people even when they say they don't want his help, Vrenille wouldn't be here. There's no more sense in arguing with Kyinnlen than there is in trying to tell the sun not to shine on you.
The difference is that Vrenille has long since accepted this as a fact of life--long since, but not nearly so long that he can't remember how scary it first was, how vulnerable he felt, how much it hurt to feel the things it made him feel. And he really has no idea what Jericho might do with it. It would have been one thing to bring him down here when everything felt comfortable and intimate between them, with a cushion of dreamily safe feelings to pad it. It feels like something else entirely now that they've both been pierced by the shattering of illusion. Now it's like being arrested on the cusp of retreat by someone who is fundamentally unwilling to watch people break themselves stupidly apart.]
Come sit down and have some breakfast. [Kyinnlen gestures to the table as he puts down his mug.] There's fresh coffee and I was just brewing another pot of tea. I'm sure you need to eat after the night you had.
[Vrenille gives Jericho a careful, questioning look. He wants him to stay, wants this to be all right, but it's not up to him (though he seems to be the only person in the room who currently thinks so).]
Yes, it would be terribly rude to bleed and run, [Sesyria pointedly raises his gaze from his paper to look at Jericho directly once more,] wouldn't you agree.