Illyria is in the bar, mainly because her mun is forcing her to be.
Normally when she is in these moods of great indifference and mild annoyance, she is out by the lake. But since the weather generally discourages anyone else from being around, and since she's not particularly averse to meeting people, she is for once actually in the bar. She
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His feelings at seeing Illyria this time are...complex. But he asks bar for a Lagavulin, 12-year, and walks over to her cautiously. Seeing her toy with the currents brings back a painful memory, but he shoves that out of his mind.
"Hello, Illyria. May I join you?"
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She is rather less inclined to admit to having feelings than is usual, but if she were, she would say that complex is an understatement. These interactions are perhaps as difficult for her as they are for Wesley.
Of course, being Illyria, it is difficult to read anything at all into her expression.
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"Well. This is more pleasant that last time at least."
He remembers how cold the air was that first night he saw her here, out back by the lake. How disoriented he had been.
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The last time, technically, had been in the cells, though she had not been entirely herself then. In any case, this meeting was, so far, more pleasant than either of those. Whether it would stay that way remained to be seen.
"I do not expect that you find any of our interactions pleasant."
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"...Perhaps, if I had any knowledge of what berks are." she replies, and allows the energy to make a sharp crackling noise as she releases it, the sparks dying away for the moment.
"For that matter, what precisely are you?"
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"I'm a mimir - a floating encyclopedia of places you've probably never heard of, if I know this burg."
"And berks are people whose brains rattle when they shake their heads."
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She pauses for a moment, eyeing the skull appraisingly.
"Do you always assume that form?"
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