Steve's assessment is met with a continuous nodding, though Viatorus doesn't look at him. His offer doesn't get a reaction either. It's as if the pages around the scholar mesmerise him as they occasionally flutter from one place to another, entrancing and concerning him at the same time.
Runa gets a coffee for Steve and herself and a tea for Viatorus, resting them on the covered desk. After she's finished hers she ends up sitting on the floor against a bookcase. Viatorus doesn't touch his tea.
There are times when small distressed noises slip past Viatorus' lips, though he doesn't always seem to realise it. More obvious are the times he fidgets and flusters, closing his eyes, holding his head in his hands and trying to calm frantic breathing. The threat of a panic attack feels eternally close and it takes all of Viatorus' focus to fight it. Stories of other worlds, other countries, gods, heroes and distant cultures… help. They take him away from the gilded, warded cage he's made for himself, away from the monsters that feel like they're waiting everywhere. Steve's deep, steady voice is a welcome beacon, a life ring for a drowning man to cling onto.
Hour pass. On the floor Runa has somehow drifted to sleep. Viatorus remains standing, though his legs have started to shake as badly as his hands which flit here and there needlessly. The door opens and Isidor steps inside. She doesn't look any more composed but there's more energy in the way she moves.
"Steve," she calls to catch his attention and then beckons for him to come to her. She keeps her eye on Viatorus until Steve is next to her. Her voice is all but a whisper when she speaks. "Has he slept at all?"
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Runa gets a coffee for Steve and herself and a tea for Viatorus, resting them on the covered desk. After she's finished hers she ends up sitting on the floor against a bookcase. Viatorus doesn't touch his tea.
There are times when small distressed noises slip past Viatorus' lips, though he doesn't always seem to realise it. More obvious are the times he fidgets and flusters, closing his eyes, holding his head in his hands and trying to calm frantic breathing. The threat of a panic attack feels eternally close and it takes all of Viatorus' focus to fight it. Stories of other worlds, other countries, gods, heroes and distant cultures… help. They take him away from the gilded, warded cage he's made for himself, away from the monsters that feel like they're waiting everywhere. Steve's deep, steady voice is a welcome beacon, a life ring for a drowning man to cling onto.
Hour pass. On the floor Runa has somehow drifted to sleep. Viatorus remains standing, though his legs have started to shake as badly as his hands which flit here and there needlessly. The door opens and Isidor steps inside. She doesn't look any more composed but there's more energy in the way she moves.
"Steve," she calls to catch his attention and then beckons for him to come to her. She keeps her eye on Viatorus until Steve is next to her. Her voice is all but a whisper when she speaks. "Has he slept at all?"