[ For a while now, Kaveh's had reservations about the direction in which the Akademiya has been heading. With an ever-increasing focus on intellectualism over the last several years, aestheticism has become something of a dirty word, the artisans and creators of Sumeru forced into designing things rudimentary. Even with his personal focus on practicality in his work, Kaveh himself suffered rejection after rejection, forced to alter the same blueprint over and over, artistic elements slowly whittled away until the designs were no longer— in his eyes— special.
But with the recent upheaval, attitudes have started to shift. Aestheticism hasn't become the preferred scholarly pursuit by any means, but it's already treated with less contempt; former clients have started to approach Kaveh about modifying existing designs to incorporate some of his original ideas, and he's heard through the grapevine that his name is one of those being considered for the Kshahrewar sage position. It's knowledge that certainly makes it less painful for him to socialize— which is a good thing, because it also necessitates socializing, at least if he wants the job to be his.
It's partly for that reason that Kaveh is, tonight, dressed up to the nines— neat black dress pants and a dusky red linen shirt with a low-cut neckline showing off the pale expanse of his chest, offset only with a pair of delicate gold necklaces; his eyes are lined with his usual red kohl, and his fingernails painted with the same pretty shade of red. He cuts a striking figure among the scholars, standing with a glass of red wine in hand and a bright warmth in his ruby eyes as he laughs and chatters away, somehow having become the life of the party.
It's easier, lately, for him to find happiness in the little things— something that is, perhaps, at least in part due to the silver-haired man trying and failing to blend into the walls.
It should be noted though that said man also makes up the other reason for Kaveh's extravagant clothing choices. They've been dating for a little under two weeks now, and Alhaitham hasn't touched him, hasn't allowed them to go any further than the occasional steamy make-out that leaves him hungry, almost aching for more.
Kaveh's starting to feel like he's going to go crazy. And maybe he's overreacting. Two weeks isn't exactly that long in the grand scheme of things.
But he's never felt like this before now.
He wants everything.
Right now, he's in the midst of a conversation with the newly-named Haravatat sage and a handful of others, a lively debate that has them all laughing, loudly teasing and mischievously jeering, shoulders bumping and arms slinging around sides in half-drunken play. And even focused on the discussion as he is, there's a part of him that remains intensely concentrated on the scribe, wanting Alhaitham to see him practically glowing with energy. ]
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But with the recent upheaval, attitudes have started to shift. Aestheticism hasn't become the preferred scholarly pursuit by any means, but it's already treated with less contempt; former clients have started to approach Kaveh about modifying existing designs to incorporate some of his original ideas, and he's heard through the grapevine that his name is one of those being considered for the Kshahrewar sage position. It's knowledge that certainly makes it less painful for him to socialize— which is a good thing, because it also necessitates socializing, at least if he wants the job to be his.
It's partly for that reason that Kaveh is, tonight, dressed up to the nines— neat black dress pants and a dusky red linen shirt with a low-cut neckline showing off the pale expanse of his chest, offset only with a pair of delicate gold necklaces; his eyes are lined with his usual red kohl, and his fingernails painted with the same pretty shade of red. He cuts a striking figure among the scholars, standing with a glass of red wine in hand and a bright warmth in his ruby eyes as he laughs and chatters away, somehow having become the life of the party.
It's easier, lately, for him to find happiness in the little things— something that is, perhaps, at least in part due to the silver-haired man trying and failing to blend into the walls.
It should be noted though that said man also makes up the other reason for Kaveh's extravagant clothing choices. They've been dating for a little under two weeks now, and Alhaitham hasn't touched him, hasn't allowed them to go any further than the occasional steamy make-out that leaves him hungry, almost aching for more.
Kaveh's starting to feel like he's going to go crazy. And maybe he's overreacting. Two weeks isn't exactly that long in the grand scheme of things.
But he's never felt like this before now.
He wants everything.
Right now, he's in the midst of a conversation with the newly-named Haravatat sage and a handful of others, a lively debate that has them all laughing, loudly teasing and mischievously jeering, shoulders bumping and arms slinging around sides in half-drunken play. And even focused on the discussion as he is, there's a part of him that remains intensely concentrated on the scribe, wanting Alhaitham to see him practically glowing with energy. ]