By the time she headed to bed, Stare was exhausted. She had been up for over eighteen hours by then and had almost been non stop. Now with stress lines likely appearing under her feathers - but that was part of the advantage of being a kenku. One could usually hide their true emotions. Right now though her body language spoke of her state of mind as she dragged her weary behind up the stairs. She yawned, glancing briefly down at her hand trailing on the bannister, before she got to the top of the stairs. Ready to fall right into the covers of her bed and sleep until someone woke her - probably Agathe - Stare walked over to her door. Her hand curled around the hand the handle and began to turn it.
Slowly, she opened it, another huge yawn starting.
Only thing was, there was someone on her bed.
“GAH!” she freaked, eyes wide.
However it was the one person who claimed every right to be there, leaning back against the headboard. Legs drawn up he was half reclining and reading, with his long pale fingers wrapped around the pages with care.
He did not even look up at her fright, but only turned the page with a soft scraping noise.
Stare let out a sigh after the scare and hurriedly stepped in before closing the door behind her. Now she was alert again, but her body still felt weary. Shockingly so. She took in a deep breath, then another before she could think of what to do or say.
“It's - it's late,” she eventually stuttered.
“Observant of you,” he replied in a dull voice, eyes drifting down the page.
Still she stood there at the door, uncertain as to what to do. She rubbed her arm, staring at him as he sat so casually.
“I'm absolutely shattered,” she said quickly. “I need to sleep.”
“Then do so,” he shrugged, his hand flipping another page.
She blinked a fair few times. “What - what are you doing here?”
“As you told Guilia at dinner, this is my house. Therefore I can go where I please in it.”
Still he did not move, and remained incredibly non-chalant. The kenku furrowed her brow, flexed her fists. It was something she could not argue with, but-
“Why are you here?” she asked suddenly. “You usually only come in a night when there has been something untoward, damning, tense or otherwise sensitive during the day. Did you - did you argue with Maester Rafael?”
There was a horrid pause, one in which there was an atmosphere of pressure, unease on her part and a slow realisation of irritation.
Slowly his eyes finally moved, roaming across the room, dragging their unwilling selves. She could see the muscles in his jaw tighten, the slow sharp breath being taken in. Then his blue, piercing glare came to her and she suddenly understood that he definitely was not in the mood.
In fact, he was quite, quite furious about something. In a way that had not as yet been expressed by his voice, but one he was holding in. Which meant even worse. The absolute of all dark emotional states.
