#kyri

Sighing, Kyri reached up and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. “We don’t need the coin, Delver. We have enough between the four of us.”

To her surprise, Delver gave their conversation enough mind to bark a dry laugh. “We do, do we? Sure, you might have a few sicets left over, but Sylda and I share the same miserable purse. And Taelan?” He snorted, although his attention had clearly drifted back to his work, the flow of his words slowing to a trickle. “The lad... he was bondsworn. Didn’t even own his own body for most of his life, yet alone anything else. No... this... this is how we do things. We need coin. I’ll get it done.”

No. This is how you do things. It took a few moments before Kyri realised the pain in her palms was from her own nails, biting crescents into her flesh. Stubborn bastard. She uncurled her fingers one by one, taking the time to force her temper back into compliance; squash it down so she didn’t unleash it carelessly. Just because Delver had a point didn’t mean she had to like how he made it. But now was not the time for that conversation. In truth, she wasn’t sure he was even hearing her right now. With what he was saying - the cruel carelessness of it - he might not even be hearing himself.

“How much do you have left?” Levering herself off the wall, Kyri moved into the room, her nose wrinkling as she approached. It seemed bathing, along with eating and sleeping, formed three parts of the same distant memory for him. Pausing at his side, she leaned over, peering at a page of what looked like incomprehensible squiggles and symbols, crossing one another at senseless angles. Beside the page was a second piece of parchment, its contents partially constructed, a scattering of words and phrases in more familiar scripts perched at the tip of Delver’s quill. Somehow, some way, he had pulled them from the maelstrom of their source. How he even found one common term was beyond her understanding, yet alone several. She would never claim he was not talented. Impressive, even.

But also exhausting.

“Go. Please.” Delver’s voice pulled Kyri out of her quiet regard. The request was almost strained, as he muttered something unintelligible and shifted the pages slightly. Apparently her shadow had fallen one of the page’s corners. There wasn’t even any writing on it. “You’re making it impossible.”

Kyri frowned. “To...?”

“Divider’s Own - focus, Kyri!”

“Focus?” She straightened, her frown deepening as she folded her arms across her chest. “I was not speaking.”

Delver huffed, penning down another word and scratching it out in the same terse movement. “I know, I know. It’s not-- look. My gut does the weirdest things around you— acrobatic things. I need it not to right now, so if you would please just...”

With that, he jutted his quill towards the door, a few droplets of ink scattering on the floor, his gaze still fixed on his precious papers. Taken aback, Kyri stared at him for a moment, wondering if his clearly overtaxed mind would ever catch up to the mad words that had just tumbled from his lips. But those same lips were already moving again, forming silent phrases, testing them, casting them aside with a frustrated grunt. His quill quickly returned to the parchment - writing, pausing, scratching out - and Kyri realised that there was really nothing more that could be said. Not right now, at least.

“Fine. But I will be back at nightfall.” She leaned even further forward, planting her hand firmly on the desk. “Finished or not, Delver, you will eat, you will sleep, you will bathe. Understood?”

“Yes, yes, fine.” Delver waved a distracted hand, as if to brush hers off the table. Then he hesitated, midway through re-inking his quill, his expression turning thoughtful. “Give me an extra hour tonight. After sundown.”

Kyri cocked a brow. “Why?”

“I can eat in the bath.”

She stared blankly at him for a moment, then groaned and cast her gaze to the stone ceiling. “Shei-tah preserve me - fine. If that is what it takes.” Despite her frustration, she lifted her hand and began to move back towards the door. “I will see you then.” Pausing, she glanced back at Delver, his fingers tangled in his copper hair, hunched over his work, and added more gently, “Just... do not push yourself too far.”

Whether her concern reached his ears or not, she couldn’t tell. She could never tell with him; he was not one to carry such things where they could be seen. But, the rest of their conversation aside, she was content with her parting words. That would have to do.