Surprise flittered across the kenku's eyes but she saw the closed door. A memory of her own from the last time they met came across her mind, of Vitruvion telling her to get over her aversion to physical contact. Yes, she had hugged Nevin before, but that had been her initiating it, not him. So she paused a moment, took in a breath and stood, joining in his awkward embrace.
“I'm still Stare, either way,” she said with a sigh. “But seven months of living this double life makes you used to how you have to act in every situation.” She squeezed him tightly, briefly, then let go and stepped back. When she did there was utter joy in her eyes. “Okay let us order first, then you can actually tell me why you are here.”
“I'll trust your judgment on food. The last thing I tried to eat was some kind of food wrap from a vendor in a street stall. Not the best thing I have had, barring my own attempts at cooking.” He had squeezed her back when she had held on, but now he was folding his long limbs up and sitting down at the table. His body was a bit too gangly to fit properly here, but he wasn't some absurd height that would make it impossible to sit down. He watched as she popped her head out the door to order, her voice shifting back to its polite modulation, then she came back and stood nearby as they waited.
Now that they were sitting down, he pulled off his coat and folded it up, then set it on the floor near his seat. He shifted a bit, uncomfortable, as this revealed the fact that the crimson tunic was all he had on his chest under the coat - gone was the usual long sleeved shirt he would have worn before. One hand came up and rubbed his arm as he gave her a crooked smile.
“I couldn't keep hiding them forever. And you and a few others accepted me despite them - how could I keep being ashamed of them when you didn't hate them?”
“Why would anyone hate them?” she asked, rather confused. “I mean, alright you get the racists - trust me, I know that,” she gestured at her face in general, “But you're still human. You just have … scars. Tattoos. Whatever you want to call them.” She paused, and sat back. “I understand not liking your own appearance. Believe it or not I used to permanently wear a hooded cloak myself, but I'm glad you've adopted them. They are your history and your future.”
Raising a hand she scratched the underside of her beak, the claws making a raking sound, a manner of showing she was thinking. “But yes. My question is, what on earth are you doing in my - our - city?”
“Well. I'm quite glad you don't wear that all covering cloak these days. And as for hating them..” Two threads emerged from his arm and waved at her before sliding back down inside of his skin. “Some people see more than they want to, and realize that the threads move beneath my skin. It does bother some, but I've decided not to let it aggravate me. My friends accept them and that's all I concern myself with.”
