Fine. [ the scribe replies with such force and immediacy, that it was obviously an untruth. ] Never better.
[ with a short groan, alhaitham draws himself up from the floor which is a sore task for someone with stiff limbs (he doesn't know how many hours he's been down there) and a distorted sense of balance thanks to the ridiculous amount of hard liquor he'd imbibed over the course of the afternoon. it ached to stand, sure, but it ached less than this emotional pain now renewed with kaveh standing right there.
despite the lack of slur in his words, it's clear that the scribe is fairly far gone as he half-stumbles while getting to his feet, a bare foot knocking over a stack of books as he rights himself. as they cascade to the floor, alhaitham mutters some archaic swear under his breath once again - because what's one more thing out of place in a house that was so out of balance anyway? as if he could've escaped ending up like this while wallowing in four walls of broken memories. ]
Your things, [ he repeats, not quite bringing himself to look at kaveh. he - just feels like he can't. ] - right. Moved them into your old room. Most of them, anyway. You have too many things.
[ and it's punctuated by a dismissive handwave in the direction of the blonde's former lodgings before alhaitham turns back to the half-empty bottle on the coffee table, grabbing it and his glass to fill. he'd actually forgone the glass perhaps four drinks ago, but something about kaveh's presence both makes him want to clear the second bottle but at the same time, not look like a neanderthal doing it.
how embarrassing, that he still couldn't bring himself not to care what this one person thought of him. ]
Knock yourself out.
[ is his offer over the lip of the glass as he takes a drink, the burn not quite enough to overwrite the emotional discomfort he's feeling in this moment. ]
no subject
[ with a short groan, alhaitham draws himself up from the floor which is a sore task for someone with stiff limbs (he doesn't know how many hours he's been down there) and a distorted sense of balance thanks to the ridiculous amount of hard liquor he'd imbibed over the course of the afternoon. it ached to stand, sure, but it ached less than this emotional pain now renewed with kaveh standing right there.
despite the lack of slur in his words, it's clear that the scribe is fairly far gone as he half-stumbles while getting to his feet, a bare foot knocking over a stack of books as he rights himself. as they cascade to the floor, alhaitham mutters some archaic swear under his breath once again - because what's one more thing out of place in a house that was so out of balance anyway? as if he could've escaped ending up like this while wallowing in four walls of broken memories. ]
Your things, [ he repeats, not quite bringing himself to look at kaveh. he - just feels like he can't. ] - right. Moved them into your old room. Most of them, anyway. You have too many things.
[ and it's punctuated by a dismissive handwave in the direction of the blonde's former lodgings before alhaitham turns back to the half-empty bottle on the coffee table, grabbing it and his glass to fill. he'd actually forgone the glass perhaps four drinks ago, but something about kaveh's presence both makes him want to clear the second bottle but at the same time, not look like a neanderthal doing it.
how embarrassing, that he still couldn't bring himself not to care what this one person thought of him. ]
Knock yourself out.
[ is his offer over the lip of the glass as he takes a drink, the burn not quite enough to overwrite the emotional discomfort he's feeling in this moment. ]