Zavien
Strike hands with me. The glass is brim.
The dew is on the heather.
Hawthorn's familiar face is almost enough to bring tears to his eyes. Zavien doesn't even care as the courtesan practically 'claims' him in front of a crowd of people. People have had their suspicions about him (no matter how unwarranted they are) and he's never paid them much heed. He isn't going to change that now. So when Hawthorn comes between him and Callie, he just shoots her a soft smile. Whether it's a subtle gloat, a consolation prize, an apology, or a pitying glance, one couldn't be sure, but he doesn't let the idea linger, letting himself be guided to the far recesses of the building. Fading sounds of the young woman complaining still filter towards them, her pout fresh in his mind. Despite their recent interaction, he'd grown up with Callie. They'd even been friends. Yet they'd followed different paths in life. He didn't judge her choices, but she judged his, and she'd started viewing him as a challenge to be conquered. Obviously, she'd yet to succeed. The dew is on the heather.
Finding a hidden booth in the corner, Zavien takes a seat, his body practically sinking into the cushions. He sighs, his shoulders falling in heavy relief. Looking to Hawthorn, a slightly hysterical chuckle escapes, devolving into full laughter as he embraces the man. "I've missed you! I'm so glad you're here!" He leans back and claps the courtesan on the shoulder, shaking his head. "I suppose I owe you a drink of gratitude." As he summons a nearby bar maid, he adds, "And you need to tell me why it's taken you so long to come visit! How have you been?!" His smile is bright and eager to hear of his friend's wellbeing.
And love is good, and life is long,
and friends are best together.
and friends are best together.
