Porcelain teacups decorate

[timewalking]

Date & Time: 12/1, evening
Location: Kirian's office, the clinic.
Characters: Kirian (timewalking) and Boyfriend #16 Rynlan (voidshift)
Summary: Kirian conjures tea and fancy cups.
Warnings: Elfs. Probably one-sided UST.

Kirian stood from his desk, limping across his office. It had been some time since he had spoken with someone on matters not of business, not of impersonal matters. Even sex, the act itself, was always impersonal. And true, he had shared tea with Haytham, but somehow, these seemed more...difficult to keep his walls where they should be.

He muttered under his breath, limping to a cabinet near his desk and pulling on a pair of black cloth gloves. At least he felt well enough today- the past fey days had been marked by pain that he could do little about. He could drug himself into sleeping, but even that lost its appeal years ago. Were he in Azeroth, he would return home, to where "home" truly was, in Quel'thalas. He would visit his sister, allow her to fuss over him for a few days until the worst of it subsided.

But here, he was alone, and the ache in his body was one he could only filch medicines for, unfortunately.

He mostly grit his teeth and just tried to bear it, anymore.

But today was better, and thus he felt the need to treat himself to a bit of company. Truth be told, he supposed he found Rynlan to be agreeable enough. He didn't seem the type to wastefully babble about himself, or to pry, and Kirian appreciated that.

Time would tell, however. For now he was buttoning his gloves and peering at the tablet, frowning to no one.

Comments

[voidshift]

Rynlan doesn't bother to respond again via tablet- frankly he just doesn't like the thing, and the invitation had been straightforward enough that he doesn't figure a response is wholly necessary.

Instead he just makes his way over to Kirian's office, ever-present satchel in hand- he's taken the time to plait his hair into a loose braid over one shoulder before arriving, but aside from that the priest looks as he usually does: heavily dressed, if not particularly well. He can mend things decently enough but after a certain amount of times the repairs just start to become obvious, and those robes are fast approaching the point where they really ought to be replaced.

The doors in the base are among the many things in it that he just doesn't trust, and it is treated to a very suspicious look before he carefully knocks once, calling out, "I hope I'm not too early."