The little gryphon peeped at the sound of her name, perking up under the attention she was receiving. Jigano's lips twitched in amusement at the two young creatures. He found less humor in Remi's statement about heroes, indeed finding it a bit too on the nose with how the boy tended to act, but he let the words lie without attempting to provoke further comment on them. He remembered how their previous conversations had gone so quickly off the rails with his habit of picking apart the alchemist's choices and phrasing, and he was making an effort to avoid that this time. It likely wouldn't be enough, but at least he would try, for Sam's sake as well as his own.
The apology was unexpected, but not as much as finding out that Remi had a little Jigano on his shoulder, whispering in his ear. The bard smoothed his expression with effort, considering that the voice had likely been a critical one, rather than one suggesting good advice, and he had to stifle a sigh. He settled for nodding slowly, clearing his throat in self-conscious memory of his own Long Night choices. "Ah. Well. Long Night seemed to have that effect on many of us Outlanders, and no few naturals," he temporized gently. "I will not pretend that my own decisions have been much wiser." Though at least the spark bird had come, exonerating much of his guilt and sorrow in the light of their success.
Seeing Remi's smile eased some of the tension that Jigano had felt towards the young man, physical proof that his interest in the bookmaker was genuine. Even his admission that he had hurt Sam didn't come as a particular surprise to the older man. He scratched Isuma's neck feathers while keeping a subtle eye on the alchemist. "And he has likely hurt you," he acknowledged, a little gruffly, but not unkindly. "Even friends can hurt each other. What matters is what you do afterwards to make sure you don't make the same mistakes with each other twice." Not that he had a vast personal experience to draw from in romantic matters, but as a bard he knew quite a lot about romance from the outside, at least.
And even more about how deeply friends could wound each other on a very personal level indeed.
The bard watched Remi cleaning up, listening to his words and, for once, not knowing how to respond. Any protest would ring hollow, but nor did he entirely agree with what the young man said. At last he sighed, giving a small shake of his head. "You're human, Remi. That's all. I was... unfair, in the expectations I hung from your shoulders without your permission. And for that, I am also sorry." He sketched a careful bow, doing his best not to dislodge Isuma or set anything on fire with the feather in his other hand, before giving Remi a little space to think and clean up his destruction.
The bard was gone for several minutes as he found clean glasses and the last bottle of the pumpkin-flavored vodka. Isuma hopped off his shoulder to go make her greetings to Chunk - who seemed perfectly content to ignore the new half-kitten with serene aplomb - which made juggling the two glasses and his feather a little easier. Returning to the backroom he nodded at the dustpan and its glittering contents with a raised brow. "I have much to thank you for, by the way, but may I ask how that found its way to the floor in here? You're not normally the clumsy type."
The apology was unexpected, but not as much as finding out that Remi had a little Jigano on his shoulder, whispering in his ear. The bard smoothed his expression with effort, considering that the voice had likely been a critical one, rather than one suggesting good advice, and he had to stifle a sigh. He settled for nodding slowly, clearing his throat in self-conscious memory of his own Long Night choices. "Ah. Well. Long Night seemed to have that effect on many of us Outlanders, and no few naturals," he temporized gently. "I will not pretend that my own decisions have been much wiser." Though at least the spark bird had come, exonerating much of his guilt and sorrow in the light of their success.
Seeing Remi's smile eased some of the tension that Jigano had felt towards the young man, physical proof that his interest in the bookmaker was genuine. Even his admission that he had hurt Sam didn't come as a particular surprise to the older man. He scratched Isuma's neck feathers while keeping a subtle eye on the alchemist. "And he has likely hurt you," he acknowledged, a little gruffly, but not unkindly. "Even friends can hurt each other. What matters is what you do afterwards to make sure you don't make the same mistakes with each other twice." Not that he had a vast personal experience to draw from in romantic matters, but as a bard he knew quite a lot about romance from the outside, at least.
And even more about how deeply friends could wound each other on a very personal level indeed.
The bard watched Remi cleaning up, listening to his words and, for once, not knowing how to respond. Any protest would ring hollow, but nor did he entirely agree with what the young man said. At last he sighed, giving a small shake of his head. "You're human, Remi. That's all. I was... unfair, in the expectations I hung from your shoulders without your permission. And for that, I am also sorry." He sketched a careful bow, doing his best not to dislodge Isuma or set anything on fire with the feather in his other hand, before giving Remi a little space to think and clean up his destruction.
The bard was gone for several minutes as he found clean glasses and the last bottle of the pumpkin-flavored vodka. Isuma hopped off his shoulder to go make her greetings to Chunk - who seemed perfectly content to ignore the new half-kitten with serene aplomb - which made juggling the two glasses and his feather a little easier. Returning to the backroom he nodded at the dustpan and its glittering contents with a raised brow. "I have much to thank you for, by the way, but may I ask how that found its way to the floor in here? You're not normally the clumsy type."
