Virgil was an incredibly anxious person, not the easiest to calm or reassure - they’d spent enough time together at this point for Kieran to be aware of that, and for him to understand that the usual strategies he relied on to calm other patients wouldn’t always work. That didn’t mean he was willing to give up, however - no, this was a unique and important challenge. Too many people in his friend’s life had neglected to take that kind of time to try and work past that, or worse, had given him a reason to be anxious and fearful. The Guardian didn’t want to be either of those things and he was little if not patient and careful.
The other looked at him for a minute, but only just, immediately turning back to his feet and to picking at the hems of the shirt he wore. It would need mending eventually, but that could be done any time - preferably at some point when Virgil wasn’t around to see. It seemed like the sort of thing that he would feel guilty about or worry over.
“You’re not in my way, Virgil,” Kieran gently reminded him with a soft smile, turning briefly to drag the large, whimsically shaped wooden vessel he used to dye fibre from its hiding place. After that, a selection of strange dried plants and a bunch of white yarn, waiting to be dyed and woven into something useful. “I like having your company, and hearing what you have to say - it can be, em… quiet, in this place, sometimes. You might have noticed that,” he admitted, eyes and voice faltering a little where his smile didn’t, “Aside from the trees, of course, but they don’t talk the same way people talk.”
As nice as his other guests here tended to be, people changed a little when they settled in here - this was natural he supposed, considering what this place was to most. That much didn’t have to be explained to his friend here, not yet: he was still confident that Virgil wasn’t here to die, like the rest of them. “Now, what colour do you think we should do?”
Virgil wrung his hands in the hem of his borrowed shirt as Kieran busied himself, leaving the scholar rooted to the spot. He... he liked his company? Virgil didn’t know why- he was anxious and strange and shouldn’t even be here, but here was Kieran, being so kind to him without provocation. It was so...odd... being treated so kindly by someone else. Back in Lyre he was ignored at best, at worst...he didn’t want to think about. It got a little better the farther he and Valhalla went, but being so far from home he was simply stared at for his bright hair and strange, strange eyes.
Very slowly, Virgil stilled his hands, fingers still curled around his hem but no longer fretting terribly so. The question startled him a little, blinking owlishly up at Kieran from behind his eyelashes as he thought.
“W-would purple be okay?” He cringed slightly at his hesitance, looking down as he dared to shuffle closer, curiosity tugging at him from behind the welling nervousness. “...Or...or teal...? They...well... they’re nice colors...” They were Valhalla’s colors, or rather, ones that he associated her with. The shine in her eye, the pretty hue of the markings adorning her face. He felt bad for asking- it wasn’t like he was going to go and give her whatever it was that Kieran was dyeing, nor was it his place to simply take it away for his own amusement.
“...Any color will be fine...” he mumbled, peering down into the tub instead. “...Do...do the trees really talk...?”
