[welcome back y'all!]

Numair sat at the table writing, his head propped heavily on one hand and his collar undone. Sraddi waited silently at his elbow, perched on the edge of a large bowl that sat on the table, loosely protected from the surface by a cloth; the only thing in the bowl was a small T-shaped perch with wires wrapped around either end of it. A teapot and a cup steamed at Numair's other elbow.

He picked up the cup, his eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion, but paused before taking a drink. The liquid inside was hissing and bubbling as though it had just started to boil. The sight seemed to wake him some, and he instantly composed himself, glancing up at the figure that had silently appeared in the doorway.

< Treiha Sirse, > he greeted. < Can I help you? >

The figure in the doorway was a spirit dressed in almost featureless dark clothes: a high-collared shirt with wide sleeves that narrowed at the wrists, slim pants, shiny plain shoes. Their hair was dark too, long in the back and short on top, with feathery sideburns that ended at their jawline. A pair of utilitarian pince-nez glasses perched on the bridge of their long nose. Even the rings on their fingers were inornate: two thick black bands, one on either hand.

< And here I thought I'd snuck up on you! > they said, almost cheerfully, but the knit of their thick brows and the intensity of their dark eyes went strangely with the dimpled little smile they wore.