haravatits: (pic#16409126)
π’Ώπ“Šπ“ˆπ“‰ 𝒢 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝒷𝓁𝑒 π“ˆπ’Έπ’½π‘œπ“π’Άπ“‡ ([personal profile] haravatits) wrote in [community profile] peepo 2023-05-04 03:22 am (UTC)

[ kaveh draws. kaveh writes. kaveh searches. after the first foray around the room, it becomes more and more obvious as to just what he is searching. the bookshelves hold no clues; alhaitham knows. the books, sorted first by language and then by font - though it gets a little messy in the liyuen ones - collect knowledge and dust, not flowers. but kaveh's gaze skims them all the same, that same, red, hunting look of a riboshland tiger when keyed to prey. no riboshland tiger has a temper that kaveh does. it is not his temper, however, that kaveh is known for. for a moment, alhaitham wonders if his energy and mind will keep up. strain builds when one's fury does not match one's constitution. kaveh is not so weak - however, kaveh is just a man. a man that bleeds when cut. a man that bruises when hurt. a man that burns when put to the torch.

what kaveh is known for: the dancing of petals on the eve of the lesser lord's birthday. the proclamation of laughter as he venerates his countrymen. the carving of a rose that still sits in alhaitham's lockbox, the one on his shelf that contains the letters that were written between their parents, before the murder of his own.

it's a pity, alhaitham thinks, that alhaitham himself cannot be the anchor to flame.

kaveh makes a third round of the room. alhaitham, finally, says:
]

In the bathroom, to the right of the waterfall. Take out the stick of incense, and use it as you wish.

[ he speaks of a small, high-lipped vase. ]

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