Zavien
Strike hands with me. The glass is brim.
The dew is on the heather.
Although he still feels the faint sting of the words, Zavien doesn't hold an ounce of blame or animosity in his bones. Instead, his smile is soft and kind, nonetheless thankful for Koa's apology. "Thank you, but don't even mention it. I know you didn't mean anything by it." He waves a hand as if the action could push the events of the morning into a forgotten place, already letting it roll off his back. The dew is on the heather.
A familiar waiter makes his way to them. If his friend is ready to order, he lets him, but otherwise, Zavien puts in the request for two of his usual, a few cups of coffee, and an extra side of bacon. Meanwhile, he watches every movement across the table, concern building at the odd nervousness.
Koa is still very obviously distracted, and he resists the urge to wave a hand in front of the distant glaze of his eyes. Instead, he leans forward, pointing at the place where his friend's hands fidget. "What's up with those gloves, anyways? I seem to remember a split lip, but I don't see one anymore. And they helped heal me during that fight with that Shadow Serpent, right? Is that their primary function?" Maybe starting off the conversation with something other than the real issue will help soften the Dragoon up, and weapons always seem like a safe bet to get guys talking.
And love is good, and life is long,
and friends are best together.
and friends are best together.
