respectfully -

the meeting with trent ikithon even now leaves a bitter taste on his tongue,  a heaviness settling deep in his stomach.  the feeling?  unfamiliar.  still,  a telling one for someone so accustomed to try to trust first.  he shakes his head,  momentarily leaving the conversation to instead find some place to settle himself.  ‘  thank you.  ’  make yourself at home,  caduceus reads into the lack of demands otherwise. 

‘  yeah.  ’  a pause as he reaches for the offered cup.  ‘  it was  —  ’  new.  nerve-racking.  ‘  certainly an experience.  ’

pumat’s remaining injuries,  still healing injuries,  hadn’t escaped his notice.  caduceus lightly blows against the comforting heat of tea.  ‘  would you like some healing?  ’

                 he wasn’t a particularly insightful fellow - his intelligence was a matter of objects, magic, information. never people. pumat knew how to sell, how to spin a persuasive speech to empty pockets the right way and how to keep them coming back to do it again. but there was a reason the simulacrums manned the front, and it wasn’t solely due to being busy. people just weren’t his forte. 

                  but he can sense the smaller things, occasionally. 

                          hand scratches over his beard, such a pleasant and warm grin stretched over bovine - esque features. there’s a rather grim darkness to being clustered in a second level basement, but the room is alight with magical flames and the jovial faces of a much younger generation of those who may one day give him a run for his business. it was a nice extension - a request to have him appear at the school and show the students techniques of a real master. the enchanter, of course, was delighted to accept. 

                     he doesn’t leave home often - has no reason to, knows prying eyes would have him remain tucked away in his workshop for all hours. but this is a venture of business, and they cannot deny him that. not with the promises of better goods, faster construction, higher quality. whether or not those promises would live up to themselves would remain to be seen, but for the first time in months he’s been able to get more than a few hours of sleep. 

                           porcelain rattles gently, a sense of their fragility as he carries the tray out to the small table :  he’s often such a balanced man, perfected in the art of careful hands and steady grips. since the incident in the church, however, he’s been in recovery, nursing sore muscle and burdening his weight on a cane. carefully, the tray is settled - two cups suited for a firbolg and a pot between them. 

                        “ oh yeah, heard about that. real tragic what’s been happenin’ in bastaird, but what can you do! i’m sure the acting king’ll have that place fixed up in no time. “ hopeful, but doubtful. it didn’t seem all that high on the list of priorities when ‘resurrection of a war-mongering tyrant’ was on the table. and pumat was far too polite to delight in the whispers of nobles, but he was certain many doubted sebastian even knew how to proceed with many of his tasks. 

                    “ no, no - respectfully, you heard me right. “  a roll of his shoulders, unstiffening them from the hours of hunched labour, loosening his muscles. he’s not a particularly athletic looking man, of this he’s aware, unbothered by. nor if he typical of a firbolg :  engrossed in the life of the city, so detached from nature, as if to spit on his upbringing and his calling. he found a new one, here, though lately, she had been invoking a sense of grounding in him. a return to his roots. 

                    her company was welcome, most times - rather, all the time, with him simply being poor at expressing it. an adoration exists for her, something deeper that stemmed from a keen appreciation for her carriage. such a pretty blue gem, vibrant and pleasing to an eye trained to enhance and commit to the aesthetics of things. a fondness had grown since, refined with their familiarity.   -- so her company, he adored, longed for. 

                    but it made it difficult to work. 

                    the other manifestations of him did what they could to entertain, to feed into whatever desires she may hold at any given time. ( each passes with a jerking shift to posture, clumsily attempting to capture her candies, often stopping to carefully tuck at the hair around her horns. ) but jester was a clever woman, and clever women aren’t fooled by tangible illusions. 

                    he ignores the first clattering - the second too. steadfast, determined :  he knows better than to give into her desperate pleas for attention, else she would never let him work. but by the third, he’s straightening his back, a soft, yet heavy sigh off his lips as the goggles are pressed up against his forehead, pushing curls with them. prime takes his time, controls the situation with each prolonged moment he spends wiping grease and metallic dust from his hands. back remains turned to her for the majority of his task, wordless until he finally discarded the cloth and closes the space approaching her. 

                   “ respectfully, my lil’ sugarplum, you’re makin’ it awful hard to get anything done. “ lopsided grin sits plainly on his face, but it’s ever as unreadable as another man’s pokerface may be. a hand mimics what the simulacrums had done before, brushing dark tresses around her horns, pad of thumb lightly grazing over the textured surface of one. “ unfortunately, that just won’t do, nope. i got deadlines, y’know. “ his tone betrays his smile, a touch of scolding from the more surly of the bunch. roaming hand finds a wrist, and another, capturing both of her hands easily.