[ all told, kuya doesn't expect olivine to follow through. no one in the manor would fault him for cold feet in the eleventh hour, and as far as kuya's seen, those are the only opinions that matter. it's almost a pleasant surprise to hear olivine at his door, but kuya still takes his time to answer -- sweeping from his armchair, folding his book shut and replacing it on a shelf, carefully adjusting his immaculate robes on the way to the door -- ever the languid and immovable spirit of the forest. olivine can watch his slow progress through the mottled glass of the door's port window. maddening, perhaps, but--

kuya's smile is all cool serenity when the door finally creaks open. for a few moments, he says nothing; his gaze slides down olivine's body appraisingly, dripping like toxic ooze from head to toe, before he turns and motions for olivine to follow him inside. ]

Welcome, Father. Please leave your shoes at the door.

[ the place is all neatly-ordered chaos in lush jewel tones. shelves and flat surfaces are precariously organized with assorted curios and oddities -- playing cards, statues of all sizes and shapes, glass baubles and patterned bottles in impossible colors, paper animals and wooden machines, books upon books upon books, and still there's more to see -- and delicate lanterns hang in varying lengths from the exposed rafters to cast everything in a dreamy glow. and in one corner near the groaning bookshelves, the plush armchair that kuya folds himself back into. ]

Have a seat. [ kuya motions to a vivid pouf beside his chair. ] We have some things to discuss before we begin.