Zavien
Strike hands with me. The glass is brim.
The dew is on the heather.
He hears the joke, and his mouth opens to laugh, to let the humor hang between them - but it falls short. A small chuckle clamors out instead, heavy around the grief still rimming his eyes. As much as he appreciates the lightness, striving to embody it himself, he can't quite summon the same level of ease no matter how hard he curves his smile upward. "I wish." And wouldn't it be nice? If they were just building a cozy house in the middle of the city, somewhere to hang out and forget about the heavy work still to be done? Knowing it's not quite easy, he's ready to enjoy his beer, to hide away in his own dampened thoughts and emotions for awhile. Until the man's words are drawing his attention, a hope blossoming bright in his chest. The dew is on the heather.
Raising an eyebrow and willing to crack a small, genuine smile, he reaches out to grasp the offered hand, firm and full of opportunity. "Nice to meet you, Iskra. I'm Zavien." Hearing the rest of the explanation, he shakes his head and lifts his bottle to his lips. "Seriously? I won't lie - that'd be extremely helpful."
The next question is a loaded one, and Zavien has to take a good mouthful of beer before he's raising his eyes to the rafters above, thinking through all the steps that have yet to do. "It's a long process of foundation forming, framing, scaffolding, brick laying, adding windows and furniture and hopefully restoring what was destroyed." His head turns to look at Iskra, still tilting up as he adds, "You know. Simple stuff." A small smile is attempts at a similar humor, the joke trying to spark through the dampening of his mood.
And love is good, and life is long,
and friends are best together.
and friends are best together.
