He was still unused to telling Low Standard Time.
Seph dumped the letters on a small table and began to rifle through them, but ended up not focusing too much. He didn't really feel like answering mail, and also didn't want to miss out on free food besides. (He was sure it would be free...pretty sure that had been in chapter 8 of the booklet.) He glanced up constantly at the partim line coiled around the biggest rafter in his room, and when he thought that it dimmed somewhat he stood and began to make his way across the hallway.
He stood before the door and eyed the skull warily, then rapped his knuckles across the wood. There was yelling and a muffled crash of some sort from within; Seph grimaced, and waited until the door swung open. Alban was wearing a white-ish apron.
"You're a little early," he said, and Seph's grimace widened.
"Sorry, I thought that I saw...I'm not used to telling the time yet."
"Understandable, I guess," Alban said. He sounded partly irritated but stepped aside and said, with growing enthusiasm, "Well, come in, come in! Seph, right? You are welcome," he said, with particular emphasis and a glare at the short curtain hanging from the top of his door. The curtain flickered; a pattern of lights wriggled from where the curtain fell from the wooden doorframe, aching out in small, uneven polka dots that were a translucent mauve color. Both of them watched the dots fall past the curtain and through the air, fading out at around the height of Seph's knees.
Alban frowned. "Useless," he muttered. "What if there was something like a dog or a dentsa trying to get in? Or pretty much any old thing kneeling down could just slip through. Wouldn't stop rodents either."
Seph nodded and made some grunt of commiseration, and walked in, wincing and coughing predictably.
Alban looked at him curiously, then bade him sit and make himself comfortable, and apologized for the mess. If any of this was Standard Low Trade Etiquette and Dining Etiquette, he hadn't read about it yet, but it was all familiar enough.
Alban's space was a mirror of his, but was decidedly more cluttered. There was a huge, floofy looking couch which was covered in a sheet that had become untucked and sprawled across most of the room like a huge, fabric puddle. Columns of books pinned down the sweeps and folds, and everywhere there were feathers, most of which were soft, almost insubstantial curls of brown, gray, and white down. They floated every time he moved, darkened corners in dense dusty clumps. On the wall opposite the kitchen area were large poles nailed to the wall, thick as his calves. They looked rather like perches.
"Roommate of mine," Alban called out from the kitchen as he continued to chop things up. "Passerine. Can't sleep on normal beds. That is, cushions, springs, mattresses, comforters, the like."
"I see," Seph responded thoughtfully. Maybe that was what he had seen yesterday. Or whenever it was. Surely it hadn't been more than a High day since then.
Alban walked back to Seph and gave him a slightly stained tumblr filled with clear, pungent liquid before returning to the stove. Seph looked down and drank, wincing slightly but then licking his lips. Strong stuff, but tasty.
He stood before the door and eyed the skull warily, then rapped his knuckles across the wood. There was yelling and a muffled crash of some sort from within; Seph grimaced, and waited until the door swung open. Alban was wearing a white-ish apron.
"You're a little early," he said, and Seph's grimace widened.
"Sorry, I thought that I saw...I'm not used to telling the time yet."
"Understandable, I guess," Alban said. He sounded partly irritated but stepped aside and said, with growing enthusiasm, "Well, come in, come in! Seph, right? You are welcome," he said, with particular emphasis and a glare at the short curtain hanging from the top of his door. The curtain flickered; a pattern of lights wriggled from where the curtain fell from the wooden doorframe, aching out in small, uneven polka dots that were a translucent mauve color. Both of them watched the dots fall past the curtain and through the air, fading out at around the height of Seph's knees.
Alban frowned. "Useless," he muttered. "What if there was something like a dog or a dentsa trying to get in? Or pretty much any old thing kneeling down could just slip through. Wouldn't stop rodents either."
Seph nodded and made some grunt of commiseration, and walked in, wincing and coughing predictably.
Alban looked at him curiously, then bade him sit and make himself comfortable, and apologized for the mess. If any of this was Standard Low Trade Etiquette and Dining Etiquette, he hadn't read about it yet, but it was all familiar enough.
Alban's space was a mirror of his, but was decidedly more cluttered. There was a huge, floofy looking couch which was covered in a sheet that had become untucked and sprawled across most of the room like a huge, fabric puddle. Columns of books pinned down the sweeps and folds, and everywhere there were feathers, most of which were soft, almost insubstantial curls of brown, gray, and white down. They floated every time he moved, darkened corners in dense dusty clumps. On the wall opposite the kitchen area were large poles nailed to the wall, thick as his calves. They looked rather like perches.
"Roommate of mine," Alban called out from the kitchen as he continued to chop things up. "Passerine. Can't sleep on normal beds. That is, cushions, springs, mattresses, comforters, the like."
"I see," Seph responded thoughtfully. Maybe that was what he had seen yesterday. Or whenever it was. Surely it hadn't been more than a High day since then.
Alban walked back to Seph and gave him a slightly stained tumblr filled with clear, pungent liquid before returning to the stove. Seph looked down and drank, wincing slightly but then licking his lips. Strong stuff, but tasty.
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