[[ Context: The entirety of a scene at Candlelight Night, with Cuinn/Jikhaa’s narrative. This is the first time he requests a different name in public.

Has a bunch of mentions... that I’m not gonna mention fskljf but I will plug @elegant-etienne and @pearlescent-scales here...

Disclaimer for food or beverage distributors involved: None of his skepticism is representative of my views on your menu items or service, nor of his actual assessment or the genuine quality of the aforementioned. ;; ]]

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“How shall I introduce you...?”

“Jikhaa.”  Jikhüüngerel.

“This is my friend Jikhaa.”

No words for this feeling.

“Welcome, Jikhaa!”

Welcome? Welcome… home?

Etienne Clairemont shrugs as their friend lingers outside the entrance. "I was hoping not to drink alone," they murmur, sounding cheerfully resigned.

Cuinn Kha from his corner lowers his head, a sort of exasperation lent better appreciation from his posture than his lack of expression. "Choose then," he says, just loudly enough to carry. "For me."

Etienne Clairemont says, lightly, absolutely not echoing that same familiar exasperation, "Airag for Jikhaa, then, please, darling."

Dawn turned to day, day turned to night.

Some quiet time at the Festival of Nhaama, edging out of our age-long RP hiatus... only but the calm before the storm.

“«Can’t even answer, can you?»

“Fucking hells…” She clenches her fists and jaw, tail thumping against the table once more. “«You are positively infuriating!»”

“Want to try again.”

“Try… the gloss again?”

Cuinn hums softly in affirmation, pressing a careful kiss to her lips. He barely retreats before he speaks. “Like warmth,” he murmurs. A gentle, ragged exhale escapes him–the sublest hint of a laugh that fails to resonate through the rest of his body. He lightly touches her cheek with the heel of his hand. “Like your face.”

Azena blushes as if on command, her cheeks warming instantly. “Well, I can’t help it when I’m around you.”

“Bubbles,”

he echoes, turning the rings in his hand to look through them at a different formation of barely-visible stars. He glances towards Azena, then the bottles of bubble solution, and says disjointedly, “«Water star.»”

“«Water star?»” Azena mimicks, turning to look at him with a quirked brow.

“«Water star»,” he says again, most insistently. “«What is it?»”

“«I’m afraid I’m confused… Could you point it out to me?»“ She follows his gesture, watching the children as they play on the bridge, chasing after bubbles as they fly through the air. “«You… You mean the bubbles?»”

Cuinn gives her no proper response, instead murmuring back, “«Bubbles.»” Folding his arms atop the railing and leaning against them, he repeats, “«Water star.»”

Azena chuckles softly. “«Water stars… How cute.»”

After a careful dip in the inkwell, he makes a swift downward stroke that is easily far too small compared to the previous letters, but appealingly and marginally thicker and rounder at the top and thinner at the bottom. But it is not the right size at all, Cuinn having applied too little pressure for fear of pressing too hard. And in the attempt to fix it, he misses the end of his initial I, creating a parallel line--though they are close enough to not notice at a distance--and the bottom is much too heavy. At this, he exhales a little heavily and leans slightly against Azena, as if the proximity and warmth will make him feel less frustrated and the task much easier.

Azena becomes quiet once more as she watches his attempts with the troublesome I. She feels him lean against her, a small smile pulling at her lips. She presses herself against him gently, her tail giving his a reassuring little tug. “You are doing well. Don’t let little mishaps discourage you.”