The idea of a Long Night 'pass' had the bard snorting softly, an agreement with an edge of dark humor to it. There was little joy to be gleaned from all that had been lost in the darkness, and even the Spark Bird's arrival and healing light couldn't close all of the wounds so soon. For once, however, he bit his tongue against the prying questions that crowded behind his teeth, trying to give the alchemist space to explain his mistakes if he wanted to - or to keep them to himself, if he didn't.
Jigano had not meant to send the young man into a fit of self-reflection over a bit of common wisdom, and he arched a brow at Remi's sudden tension. He waited quietly, though intensely curious, to find what had inspired such a reaction but when it came he had to stifle a wry smile. "That is, in the end, only human," he said gently. "All you can do is try. And, hopefully, learn to recognize when you're about to repeat a mistake you've already made. It might give you enough chance to change things, so at least it becomes a different mistake." He had no intention of interfering in Sam's love life, for all he didn't want to see the gentle bookmaker hurt. He had made a choice to love Remi, and the alchemist seemed to love him back, and so long as they were both sincere even the meddlesome bard recognized that it wasn't his place to do more than offer encouragement and sympathy as required.
His own apology did not come easy, but Remi had earned it, and Jigano acknowledged that with a grace he would not have managed before the Spark Bird's appearance. The lorekeeper tilted his head to listen to the younger man's words with due solemnity, then, after a moment's thought, nodded his acquiescence. "I fear we may still continue to strike sparks from each other. Our personalities are... in some ways so dissimilar, and in others a little too similar for comfort, despite our different backgrounds," he tried to explain, instinctively falling back into his more formal cadences. "But we have too many friends in common, and neither of us wishes to cause them distress, I'd wager. At the least I think we can manage cordiality..." he hesitated, and then a hint of a wry grin lifted the corners of his lips. "And I would ask no less of you, Remi, than the honesty you gave me, as well. You were right, that I was pushing too hard and too fast, attempting to urge you and others towards paths I felt were best for them, and not respecting your own wishes enough. And now that I lead a guild, those I might otherwise trust to tell me when to slow down or back off might hesitate to do so. I would not have it be that way, but I am not so blind that I don't recognize the difficulties such a position can impose on relationships." He cleared is throat self-consciously, giving the other man a nod of acknowlegment. "So. I would appreciate if we can both be honest with each other, when we see the need for it."
It was more than he had intended to say, but he hoped it managed to cover what was needed. When he returned with the alcohol he found himself chuckling at Remi's cheeky explanation, even if it did invite more questions. Here, away from the tread of feet and paws, it was probably safe enough to indulge in a little fit of pique. "Smash away, and then have a drink," he suggested, raising his hand with the two glasses and a wry smile. "You're piquing my curiosity as to what you've done, but I leave it up to you whether or not you want to share it."
Jigano had not meant to send the young man into a fit of self-reflection over a bit of common wisdom, and he arched a brow at Remi's sudden tension. He waited quietly, though intensely curious, to find what had inspired such a reaction but when it came he had to stifle a wry smile. "That is, in the end, only human," he said gently. "All you can do is try. And, hopefully, learn to recognize when you're about to repeat a mistake you've already made. It might give you enough chance to change things, so at least it becomes a different mistake." He had no intention of interfering in Sam's love life, for all he didn't want to see the gentle bookmaker hurt. He had made a choice to love Remi, and the alchemist seemed to love him back, and so long as they were both sincere even the meddlesome bard recognized that it wasn't his place to do more than offer encouragement and sympathy as required.
His own apology did not come easy, but Remi had earned it, and Jigano acknowledged that with a grace he would not have managed before the Spark Bird's appearance. The lorekeeper tilted his head to listen to the younger man's words with due solemnity, then, after a moment's thought, nodded his acquiescence. "I fear we may still continue to strike sparks from each other. Our personalities are... in some ways so dissimilar, and in others a little too similar for comfort, despite our different backgrounds," he tried to explain, instinctively falling back into his more formal cadences. "But we have too many friends in common, and neither of us wishes to cause them distress, I'd wager. At the least I think we can manage cordiality..." he hesitated, and then a hint of a wry grin lifted the corners of his lips. "And I would ask no less of you, Remi, than the honesty you gave me, as well. You were right, that I was pushing too hard and too fast, attempting to urge you and others towards paths I felt were best for them, and not respecting your own wishes enough. And now that I lead a guild, those I might otherwise trust to tell me when to slow down or back off might hesitate to do so. I would not have it be that way, but I am not so blind that I don't recognize the difficulties such a position can impose on relationships." He cleared is throat self-consciously, giving the other man a nod of acknowlegment. "So. I would appreciate if we can both be honest with each other, when we see the need for it."
It was more than he had intended to say, but he hoped it managed to cover what was needed. When he returned with the alcohol he found himself chuckling at Remi's cheeky explanation, even if it did invite more questions. Here, away from the tread of feet and paws, it was probably safe enough to indulge in a little fit of pique. "Smash away, and then have a drink," he suggested, raising his hand with the two glasses and a wry smile. "You're piquing my curiosity as to what you've done, but I leave it up to you whether or not you want to share it."
