[ There's something unsettling about the look that crosses so briefly over Alhaitham's face as he lifts a hand to his mouth, a wild expression so different from the usual calm, stoic countenance he wears. For a single moment, the architect's lips part as if to offer an apology, but the words don't come; even if they did they'd be lost anyway in the way that the other charges forward and grabs him, all cold fury and digging fingers.
The anger and hurt is still bubbling and churning in his own gut, shining in the tears at the corners of his eyes, but something in that furious look staggers him into a shame that prevents him from acting further, even as Alhaitham drops his grip again and steps away.
What the hell has gotten into him, is the question on the scribe's lips... and the truth is: a lot. So much, in fact, that even lips loose from too much alcohol won't spill a word of it. So much that he would rather punch his way out of a situation than talk about it, lest his pride be left shattered.
Never mind that his pride is already in pieces at his feet.
...He's well and truly fucked things up this time, hasn't he?
For several long moments, all Kaveh can do is stand there as the scribe strides away, watching the broad shoulders of his departing figure in a silence that rings loud in his ears. And it feels like hours before he pulls himself away, slinking in the opposite direction in the search of something strong with which to drown this newest sorrow that he's just created for himself. ]
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The anger and hurt is still bubbling and churning in his own gut, shining in the tears at the corners of his eyes, but something in that furious look staggers him into a shame that prevents him from acting further, even as Alhaitham drops his grip again and steps away.
What the hell has gotten into him, is the question on the scribe's lips... and the truth is: a lot. So much, in fact, that even lips loose from too much alcohol won't spill a word of it. So much that he would rather punch his way out of a situation than talk about it, lest his pride be left shattered.
Never mind that his pride is already in pieces at his feet.
...He's well and truly fucked things up this time, hasn't he?
For several long moments, all Kaveh can do is stand there as the scribe strides away, watching the broad shoulders of his departing figure in a silence that rings loud in his ears. And it feels like hours before he pulls himself away, slinking in the opposite direction in the search of something strong with which to drown this newest sorrow that he's just created for himself. ]