#apprentice arlo

[faustian-familiar]

Hey artists, I’m doing a #dtiys contest over on Instagram if you want to check it out! (@faustianfamiliar)

[faustian-familiar]

Tried sketching my apprentice again. Still not totally happy with it but it’s the best I’ve done with him so far

[faustian-familiar]

How many different ways can you say “Arlo is the stoner friend”?

Vesuvian University AU and background image by @orinjihime2.0 and ru_art85 on Instagram

Caption:

Roommate: unassigned

Studying: Design and Applied Arts

-Has a full scale moonshining operation running out of his dorm room

- Brings stray animals to class

- Pulls a lot of pranks

- Somehow makes the best food you’ve ever tasted with a microwave

- Tries out every single club because college is about self-discovery

Favorite places:

-Friends’ dorm rooms

-The dining hall

-The picnic tables no one knows about

Late night study fuel:

-Taking a nap on the library’s cushy chairs

-Walking to the convenience store near campus and getting a slushee

[nerdy-on-main]

Consequences

Post-Book XV update for Asra-Route Arlo, who, at this point, is surprised by nothing. He probably should be, but he isn’t. This isn’t what he expected, but he expected something to go wrong.  Lucio’s not what he expected, either... but somehow he expected that, too.  Arlo is very, very tired. ~1400 words.

---

This was... wrong. And unavoidable.

He knew it as soon as the Devil asked him. Not the bargain, no... he knew then, too, of course... It was a mistake, but it was one he had to make. There were conditions; he wouldn’t know all of them. That was understood.

It was the other question that set his skin crawling. “Indulgence, pleasure, deception, all that elevates the mortal experience” - those words, paired with a condescending crinkle pulling on inhuman lips, a smile both vicious, and somehow benevolent - “Did you enjoy it?”

That was the question that confirmed some of his suspicions, and added many more. This was going to happen. It was always going to happen. But why? Not that it mattered now, if it had ever mattered, but...

... He did have fun. There was no point in lying about it, even with that sinking feeling in his gut. Time was up. It felt like being called away. He’d had his fun... and now it was someone else’s turn. Time for him to go wherever he was going.

He was never meant to be at the Masquerade. Every moment he had was one more than he should have expected. And if this - whatever “this” was - was going to happen... he might as well have enjoyed himself.

If only there had been more time.

Or maybe it had been avoidable. Shouldn’t have dealt with the Devil... though somehow, he has a feeling that deal hasn’t quite come to fruition, even in his present state. It can’t have been that easy... can it?  After all, he’s still here. Sort of. In between, not yet gone.Trapped, perhaps. Here, nonetheless.

It had been his decision. He had come by it honestly.

There was only one answer. “Yes.” The sooner they were left in peace, the better. One word, filled with anger and irritation. It was the easiest, most painful, most annoying question Arlo had ever heard in his life. “Yes.” Of course. Let Faust go, leave Asra alone. Get on with it.

If this was going to happen, one way or another, it had damn well better happen soon.

Surely he couldn’t have caused so much trouble with so little input? Whatever this was, it wasn’t his fault. Whether out of stubbornness or intuition, Arlo just can’t believe he’s responsible. Whatever happened, he hadn’t done it. It wasn’t his fault. He’d done nothing wrong.

Shame about the mask, though. Asra had worked so hard on it.

Wait... where was his mask? What happened to his things, when his body ceased to be his? Ceased to be?

Not that it matters, but it’s a question nonetheless. And this moment feels like a good time for questions, while solutions seem so far off. There’s nothing better to do. “Feelings” finally take the forefront, and the only feelings he can identify are melancholy and guilt. He hadn’t helped after all. Ugh. Stupid.

There’s nothing he can do at this point except feel sorry for himself and worry about Asra.  And ask pointless questions, when that becomes too painful.

Whatever’s happening, it was always going to happen.  And this... this had always been borrowed time.

...Or stolen.

Now that, that was a point of contention. And Arlo took offense. He’d never stolen a single damn thing in his life, least of all a body, and he was not about to be slandered. (Not that he had any say in the matter.) Lucio had no idea what he was talking about.

But Lucio. Oof. That does seem unavoidable.

Arlo leans his incorporeal chin into his incorporeal palm.

... Shouldn’t have sat in his chair. That was stupid. Some might say... Fool-ish?

Great, dead and making puns. What a day.

What’s the difference between a joke and a pun, anyway?

What’s the difference between being dead and being gone?

There’s time enough to ponder while Lucio makes his entrance.

A surprisingly shrill voice rings out across the ballroom, matched only by sudden silence, the steady click of his boots, and the jubilant whining and panting of the dogs as they race around him.

“Dear Vesuvia!  Did you think that I had left you for good?”

It’s... odd.  He assumed he would feel something, if he ever met the man.  Lucio. Hatred, fear, disgust... something. But there’s nothing. So far, he doesn’t remember anything. No lingering feelings from the past, only echoes of what he’s heard and seen from others.

Lucio’s reputation precedes and diminishes him. This hardly seems like a man capable of causing such suffering. This is... this guy is just another rich prick, as far as Arlo can tell. This was the man who set fires, tore out hearts and throats, stabbed people for looking at him the wrong way - or not looking at him at all?

This was Lucio?

He might even be attractive, except for his plagued eyes and the smug look on his face. Arlo is keenly aware his own sense of fashion is woefully insufficient, but the Count certainly looks the part. He looks... expensive, if nothing else.  And, hell, the dogs like him, so that... does that count for something?

But to be so reviled... there must be something more. If he made all those enemies, how was it that none of them had succeeded? How was it he’d lived as long as he had? It seemed simple enough. So why hadn’t anyone been able to do it?

The plague, somehow... it’s tied to him.  But, again, if this is Lucio, why had anyone ever followed him to begin with? Who was backing up the threats he made and making good on them? Why? How? How had he ever been allowed to make it that far, to cause that much suffering? Who had allowed it?

How could one person, a single gaudy, snippy, rich prick, be the source of so much misery?  That remains to be seen.

Speaking of “seen”... Faust sees him. Asra, too. Lucio pointedly ignores him... which means Lucio can see him, too.

Strangely appropriate. ...Prick.

The Count sneers and haughtily tosses his cape, heels clicking against the ballroom floor as he snags the nearest glass of wine right out of a nearby partygoer’s hand.

He takes a sip, pauses, and looks around the room as his smile widens.

“Well? What sort of welcome is this? A little applause, if you would!”

He taps his foot once and throws an arm out in mock annoyance... which doesn’t seem all that mocking. The fact that it’s covered with a smile doesn’t lessen the threat.

The crowd mills nervously, breaking out into hesitant applause while the Count grins and drains his drink, then takes a collective step back as he hurls the glass down against the ballroom floor, shards skittering out in waves.

The Count coughs out a laugh. “It’s not my vintage.”

All eyes are on Lucio, and he revels in it. Prick. He certainly knows how to put on a show.

But Asra keeps sneaking glances back at Arlo. He puts on a brave face for Asra’s sake, but his lip wavers apologetically. It’s... less than ideal. But not all that bad, all things considered.

The most important thing is Asra is safe... for the moment. And he has Faust. And Muriel. And Julian. And Nadia. People that care about him. They’ll do... something. They hadn’t stopped Lucio yet, but they could still stop the plague.

They’re clever enough, capable enough, motivated enough people. They don’t need Arlo for that. And if they do... he’ll do what he can.

He’s fine. If Lucio couldn’t get hurt like this, neither can he, as far as he knows. Arlo’s still here, and he has nothing to worry about.

Asra shouldn’t worry about him. It matters that they stay safe. At this point, Arlo’s just along for the ride.

And Lucio... the way things are going, have been going... someone’ll have his head soon enough. It’s really just a matter of time. A question of conviction.

Shame, really. Maybe the Count should have just died in the first place and saved everyone the trouble.

Maybe this time, he will.

[ltrizzo]

So... I still can’t art, and I’m still salty about that... but I’m at least finding references now, so that I have something to show for it.  Mum would be proud.  (Or maybe not.  I’ll show her eventually and we’ll figure out where I went wrong.)

A semi-related fun fact:  All of the aesthetic choices/ inspirations for Arlo come from movies I haven’t actually seen.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[nerdy-on-main]

Ocean

For @thearcanaweek ‘s Nadia Week.  I always love the prompts, but I am so far behind!  A drabble about Nadia’s sea-side gateway, dialogue from the game.  ~800 words.

---

The scent of salt, the distant sound of crashing waves: those are the sensations that first call his attention.  Arlo opens his eyes slowly, blinking against the bright sun, pushing himself up with one arm to sit and inspect his surroundings.

Nadia is the first thing he sees as he sits up.  She’s already awake. She leans over him, pulling him into a quick embrace, laughing breathlessly.

“We’re here... I’m back.  I knew you could do it.”

He glances around as she pulls him upright. The way she had spoken about the shores of her homeland, he almost should have expected it: the sea, the shore, the sky.  

A gateway was a mix of home and self and wishful thinking - at least, that’s how Asra had explained it.  Or, at the very least, that was how Arlo had understood him.

This was Nadia’s gate, the one she had known since childhood: a lone island in an endless sea, defiantly calm against its surroundings; still waters running deep.  Was that how she saw herself?  How she had wanted to be?

And yet, one couldn’t really call it lonely.  Solitary, yes, but everything about it was comforting and home-like, though so far removed. The warmth of the sun, the soft, even sounds of the waves lapping against the shore, the glittering sea, still and glass-like, the single shade tree, bearing fruit... If not for the waterfalls - magnificently high, pouring in on all sides but never overtaking the shore- it could very well be found anywhere. 

One wouldn’t find it just anywhere, of course... but there was the persistent feeling one could, if one kept looking.

It seemed fitting: peaceful, quiet, simple, refined.  A moment cut out of time - unending, unchanging.  A place where she could stop and think without distractions.

“This place was my retreat as a child... I often spent hours or even days planning, designing, and thinking here.”

She had spoken about her childhood, coming out of her sisters’ shadow, wanting to stand on her own. This must have been a much appreciated respite, and sorely missed when she couldn’t get back... All her efforts in Vesuvia, trying to establish herself, right what was wrong, fix things on her own when she could trust no one else with the task - and never a moment’s rest.

But things were different now.  At least, they seemed that way... at least, to him.  He hoped Nadia knew.  She could still be alone, when she wanted to be, but she didn’t have to be.  She could get back, when she wanted to, but hopefully she didn’t feel the need to escape.

There were already enough people on her side that, if she let them, would gladly defend her against anyone that sought to take advantage of her good graces or undermine her efforts. She didn’t have to do everything on her own, didn’t have to hide away to prepare, or think of every eventuality before taking a single step.  It was alright to let people see the process. There was nothing shameful in not knowing, or in seeking assistance.

There were people that wanted to help.  Surely she knew; she must.  She had invited him to come with her, after all, and more than that, she had trusted him to help her get back. 

...And, of course, they were there for a reason.  Gateways are meant to be traveled through.  There was so much going on, so much to plan, so much to accomplish... and so little time.

As if reading his thoughts, Nadia smiles warmly at him, drawing him out of his introspection.

“Time works differently in this place, you see.  A minute out there could be a day in here.”  Nadia’s reassuring smile turns playful.  “You know.  You and I could spend some time together here with no one the wiser.  There are so many things to do with just the two of us here...”

Somehow that didn’t quite sound like planning.

“Would you like to go swimming, Arlo?”

Well, yes, he would, but...

He stutters out the first answer that comes to mind, a wisp of an excuse, “I... uh. Ah. I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”

“Who needs a swimsuit?  It is just you and I, after all.  And things are different, here.”

They certainly were.

In an instant, her appearance had changed - a more appropriate level of undress.

“I -uh... Well. Sure.  Why not?”  Maybe just a little time - a quick dip, a brief respite.  It had been so long since she had been there, and he’d hardly had a chance to appreciate it, himself...

By the time he had shaken off his doubts and shed his excess layers, Nadia was already in the water.

[nerdy-on-main]

Sisterly Influence

All of Nadia’s sisters are strong, and talented, and beautiful, and worried about Nadia.  Knowing how all of that had weighed on her in the past, it was no small wonder to Arlo that Nadia had wanted to get away.  Now, the thought is returning in a different light.  They are family, after all, and very much alike.  For @thearcanaweek ‘s Nadia Week.   ~1300 words.

---

“To be honest, they have not been as frustrating as I remember them being.  Which is frustrating in itself, because I wanted to keep my anger.  I wanted to feel justified.  More and more, I wonder if we were all just misunderstanding each other.”

When Nadia first spoke of her sisters, Arlo thought he could relate - though, of course, he wasn’t a princess himself.  The desire to have a purpose, to prove oneself capable- that was familiar to him.  Then again, who did he have to disappoint but himself?  For Nadia, there had been the added burden of expectations - her sisters’, and her own.

Even between the four sisters he had met, there was so much they had done already.  They each had their own talents, and excelled in their fields.  With all that her sisters had accomplished, what was left for Nadia?  What was to be her mark on the world?  How was she to present herself, while her sisters still took center stage?

Nasmira was the natural diplomat and philanthropist.  She was bright, kind, and well-loved, spending her time and energy helping causes.  She could talk to anyone, get them to open up, and put them at ease. 

She had Vlastomil talking within minutes of their meeting, when Nadia’s attempts had been met with obstinance and grief.  It was easy to understand Nadia’s exasperation.

Navra was the artist, the creator, workshop and all.  She had a critical eye for beauty, that spark of creativity, and boundless energy.  She had a natural enthusiasm for the talent of others- still, knowing that one is being evaluated and critiqued, even in a positive manner, doesn’t always do wonders for one’s self esteem.

Navra had complimented Arlo and Nadia’s dancing, seemingly inspirited by their performance, but was it a welcome observation? Had all of Nadia’s “performances” been subjected to scrutiny?

As for Nahara... Arlo wasn’t quite sure what sort of “training” Nahara was involved in, but he was willing to bet it was martial.  The muscles alone could have clued him in, but she had such a cool and commanding presence.  When Arlo had danced with her; it was easy to follow steps and fall in line.  Who could ever hope to compete with natural authority like that?

Nazali was the eldest, and the doctor, and the expert in their field: a surgeon, still practicing, well-enough accomplished that people sought out their tutelage. The bar had been set high from the start, and even today, as soon as they stepped into the room, they were able to get Julian to sit still and listen for once- a feat many had recently attempted with little success.

Having met the four of them, Arlo found it even easier to understand Nadia’s insecurities.  Each of the Satrinava sisters was so talented, so collected, so entirely self-assured.  It was easy to be intimidated by their success.  It must have been a challenge for Nadia, being the youngest, trying to forge her own path, without falling into anyone’s shadow, or following in their footsteps.  The expectations alone must have been nearly insurmountable.

And yet - she really needn’t have worried. Her sisters cared about Nadia, and not just what she could do.  However she might have felt about her sisters’ example during her childhood, however it might have been in the past, today she was quite capable, and they had so much in common. Their desire to assist wasn’t a sign they doubted her capabilities.  Even after a few brief meetings, Arlo could see so much of Nadia in her sisters, and so much of her sisters in her. 

Though she had claimed she couldn’t make friends as easily as Nasmira, Nadia was still a natural when it came to popular politics. The people believed in Nadia - or at least, they wanted to.  She gave them hope, just by listening. 

She did that for her friends, too.  Nadia had that same talent for getting people to open up, even if she was, perhaps, a little more picky about who she let close.  Muriel had warmed up to her quickly, she and Portia were friends nearly as soon as she had awakened, Julian trusted her judgement, and despite the years and all that had changed, Asra still considered her a friend.  And Arlo - Arlo was there because of her, wanting to help, in spite of all his reservations.

Nadia and Navra had the same appreciation for beauty, and shared similar tastes.  Nadia had an impeccable sense for aesthetics and design.  Her outfits were stunning, her appearance so meticulously crafted - and the things she planned and “tinkered” on were nothing short of beautiful: the elaborate design for the library door, the layout of the contemplation tower, the “simple” toy she had crafted for Chandra. 

Nadia took the same interest in the talents of others. Though she downplayed her own talents, she had always encouraged Arlo to take confidence in his, and to pursue his own interests.  He was certain, if he asked, she would offer him anything to help him advance.  She would do that for anyone she cared about.

Nahara might have seemed more reserved and commanding on first meeting, but strength and natural authority?  That suited them both.  How many times had Nadia silenced disparaging conversation with a word?  A glance?  She had a glare that could level mountains.  Hell - she had scared off a ghost, albeit temporarily.  Sliced him clean through!  No hesitation - she acted on instinct.  (And Arlo was very, very impressed - and very, very grateful.)

Nazali was practical and patient and wanted to see people at their best.  It was clear in how they spoke with Nadia, how they looked after Julian.  They had arrived at just the right moment.  Theirs was a much needed calming presence to heal old wounds, both physical, and not.

Healing, nurturing, helping things grow - that, too, was a goal of Nadia’s.  Her support for Arlo had been unwavering and unconditional - despite his insistence that the best he could do was try.  And, despite her concerns about Julian’s plan, she had acknowledged his dedication and allowed him to be the master of his own fate.  She wanted things to be better for everyone.  Nadia’s plans to improve the city were all rooted in resolving the problems of the past, and moving forward.

If Nadia was so much like her sisters, since it was clear they cared for each other - why had it come to competition?  Why had she felt like she had to prove herself alone?

Perhaps -  Arlo thought - perhaps Nadia had judged her sisters harshly, out of the expectation she would be judged harshly if she failed to live up to their example.  If that was what had worried her, she could put the matter to rest.

Regardless of the example her sisters had set, regardless of shared interests and talents, Nadia was her own person, and that was who they wanted her to be.  They desired to see Nadia succeed in her own right, as much as she did. They were proud of her, and concerned for her happiness and well-being.

Whatever their past had been like, the future could be bright, if they put the past behind them, and made up for lost time.  And of course, they would; they were all very capable people.

[nerdy-on-main]

Not Quite A Walk in The Park

Asra tries so hard to get Muriel and Arlo together, but for whatever reason, that seems difficult without pretense.  Luckily, Asra has one, but it’s not working out quite as planned.  For the “Friendship” prompt for @thearcanaweek ‘s Asra Week. ~2000 words. (The one I actually meant to post today, and then nearly forgot.  Whoops!)

---

The three of them walk together along the path out of the forest toward the edge of town.  At least, they're supposed to be walking together.  That was the idea. 

That was the way Asra had planned it, to give Muriel, Arlo, and himself something to do together without being guests or obstructions in each other's space.  He had hoped his friends would finally be able to find some common ground, or at the very least, have a distraction from the usual awkwardness of their all-too-brief interactions before heading back into their own separate worlds.

As it is, Muriel's a good twenty paces ahead and putting distance between them, preoccupied with the thought of getting to their destination.  Asra follows at the same steady pace they had started out with, and Arlo trails behind at the same pace, but still at a distance.

That won't do.

Asra comes to a stop, sighs, and puts his hands on his hips.

“Muriel?”, Asra calls after him. “Arlo-,” he says in his best “teacher” voice.  The words stop them both dead in their tracks, sheepishly turning toward the sound.  “-we're never going to get anywhere if you keep running off... and you keep falling behind.” He points at each of them in turn.

“Where are we going?”, Muriel asks, his steady voice and soft-but-solemn gaze as inscrutable as ever.

“To the shop, like I said.”, Asra replies simply.

“I... I can get to the shop by myself... I know where it is.”  Muriel blinks and unconsciously cocks his head, seeming a bit confused, but manages to regain control over his facial muscles before they have a chance to betray him further. 

He moves to turn and continue onward, but stops again as Asra raises a hand.

“That's not the point.  Come on... Come in, come back~”  Asra waves an arm at each of them, reeling them in with wide, encouraging gestures and comforting smiles.

Arlo and Muriel share a glance and awkwardly make their way back to Asra, brows low over their eyes, faces painted with embarrassment.  

Asra clicks his tongue chidingly, wrapping an arm around each of them as they come into his space.   “I thought we could have a nice walk, look for some ingredients as we went along, have a chat... How come you always wind up so far apart?”

There's no answer.

“...Arlo?”

Arlo fidgets self-consciously, frozen in place both by the gentle hand at his back, and the social obligation to answer a direct question.  

“I... I wanted to give you some space, so you could talk, if you wanted.”

“Mhm... Muriel?“ Asra turns his head up towards him.

Muriel nods almost imperceptibly, only a fraction of an inch.  If the dip of his chin hadn't coincided with the subtle drop of his gaze, it might have gone unnoticed.

Asra laughs through his nose, a smile creeping across the corners of his mouth. “The same?”

Muriel nods again, more clearly, seeming to wince as the flush on his cheeks flares a deeper red.

Asra sighs in exasperation, but the warm look of affection never leaves his eyes.

“Well, now I'm the only one talking. Do you see what the problem is?”

Both Arlo and Muriel awkwardly shift their weight, mumbling their agreement.

“Good! So let's do something about it!”  He pulls them in closer and gives them a quick squeeze before releasing them in order to retrieve a piece of parchment from his bag. 

“I've got a list here, and you're going to help me look for these things, alright?”  He draws their attention to the page, running his finger down the column of ingredients.

“You’re going to take this...” He digs in his bag again, and hands them each a bit of cloth. “And we’re going to wrap up anything we find to bring it with us. And while we're looking, you're going to tell me about your day.  And you're going to stay close this time! Okay?!”

For effect, Asra stomps his foot and crosses his arms - though the twitching of his lip gives away that he's still trying very hard to keep himself from laughing at their sheepish expressions.

“...Okay?” He abruptly turns on his heel and quickly heads back into the forest.

Arlo and Muriel hurry to respond as they follow Asra into the foliage along the path, spaced equally apart as they look around.  

“-Okay!”

“-Okay.”

“Good!” Asra immediately sets about harvesting mushrooms near the base of a tree. “Arlo, what did you make last night? The shop smelled fantastic this morning.”

“Oh. Um.  Pot roast.  With carrots and potatoes.  I set some aside for today, too.  Depending on what we get here, if we stop by the market for a few things, we can easily make a meal out of it.”

“That's great!  Muriel, you really have to try Arlo's cooking.  He's a natural. Makes a stir-fry like you wouldn't believe.  I can’t wait to see what he does with what we find today... Has anyone found any wild onions, yet?”

Muriel blushes and mumbles something, passing a large handful of berries to Asra, before turning in the other direction.  “Oh, I didn't mean you had to go off looking for them now.  And you don't have to hand them all to me - you can have some, too.  We'll divvy up the rest when we get to the shop.”

Muriel mumbles something to Asra again, but stays close.

“Okay... Well, yes. That’s a good idea. I guess it does  make sense to pool them all together... here-”  Asra quickly fashions his bit of cloth into a knapsack with an open rim, adding Muriel's haul to his.

“Alright, slight change of plans: we'll use the other cloths to get the dirt off everything off first, and then set it all in here... and if we collect too much for this one, we'll make another.”

Arlo comes over to add his finds to the collection, and surprises himself by taking a stab at conversation.

“How's Inanna? Where is she?”

Muriel gives him a suspicious look which melts slightly as Asra smiles up at him.

“She’s fine...She's home.  She doesn't like the city.  Too many people, and it hurts her paws to walk on cobblestones.  And she's... big.  She doesn't like people staring.”  Asra gives him a reassuring nod.  “I don't like people staring, either.”

Arlo nods. “Understandable.”

Less understandable is the face Muriel makes at Arlo’s response.  Whether it’s about talking in general, who he's talking with, or the topic of conversation; it's certainly a sign of discomfort - sort of a grimace, though not particularly pained or angry.

Arlo feels oddly compelled to keep talking.  It's a nervous habit, but one he doesn't think Asra will mind at the moment.

“She's nice, though.  Should I send something home for her?  I've got some stew bones with some meat on them.  I could double-boil them so they're soft.”

“Oh... um...” Muriel blushes slightly, which makes Arlo smile, causing Muriel to fluster further.  He looks to Asra for advice as he comes up next to him. Asra smiles and nods, and Muriel finally replies. “...Sure.”

Asra raises his eyebrows at Muriel, tilting his head in Arlo's direction.

“...Thank you? ...That would... be nice?”

Asra grins, giving Muriel a comforting pat on the arm. “Yes, Arlo. That would be nice.  I'm sure Inanna will appreciate it.”

Muriel still looks as though he'd rather disappear, but he relaxes as they all break off to keep looking again, occasionally adding things to the haul.  

Asra does his best to keep the conversation going.

“Muriel, Arlo was asking me about your wards.”

“...Why?”

“He's interested in protections, and he doesn't know all that many yet.”

“...He doesn't?”  Muriel turns, looking first to Arlo, then to Asra.  He actually seems surprised, though Arlo can’t imagine why.

“We're having some trouble.  He knows how I do mine, but he hasn't been able to do them himself yet.  I was wondering if you could show him how you do yours?  Maybe seeing a different technique would help him.”

“Maybe.“ Muriel doesn't seem offended or defensive, but with his back turned, focused as he is on gathering plants, his response is hard to read.  

Asra prompts him again.

“Maybe... what?  Maybe it would help, or maybe you'll show him?”

“Maybe... it would help.”  He reluctantly turns his gaze to Arlo. “... I can show you.”

Arlo breaks into a soft, sincere smile.  “I'd like that.  I think they're fascinating.”

“They're... useful. ...Necessary, sometimes.”

Muriel still can't quite look Arlo in the eye, but he isn’t avoiding him, either. They both stand there, theoretically still locked in conversation even as it falls to awkward silence, each of them thoroughly unsure how a normal interaction with the other is supposed to go.

“Yeah...” Arlo's voice trails off.  He's not really sure where to go with the conversation from there, but Asra helps them along, beautifully undeterred.  

“Muriel doesn't just use them to keep things out of the house; he uses them to protect the house itself, too.  Speaking of the house, Muriel, are you still having trouble with the roof?”

At the sound of Asra's voice, they both split off working again, and the bubbling tension subsides.  Muriel responds easily.

“No. I re-thatched it.”

“Oh, you didn't have to use the wood after all?”

“No, it was too big to fit.  Too heavy. I went out to the fields and collected some branches and hay, and wove that together. ...I think it will stay.”

It's strange, but when he's talking to Asra, and when no one else is looking at him, Muriel doesn't seem to have any trouble speaking.

“Well, if you need to fix it again, Arlo and I will help you, too.”

“Hmmph.” Muriel makes a noncommittal noise.

“Hmm?” Asra hums back.

“He will?” Either Muriel sees Asra opening his mouth to speak, or he recognizes the unintentionally dismissive tone of his own voice, because he hurriedly continues, “Has he ever fixed a roof before?”

Arlo answers for himself.  

“Only replacing shingles... But I could make lunch while the two of you are working?”

“Oh. Um. Okay.”  Muriel flusters, still somewhat surprised about having to speak to Arlo, instead of through Asra, but he doesn't shy away.

“Or I could at least try to keep Faust and Inanna entertained.”

Asra smiles as Arlo brings over a few more things.  

“Thank you, Arlo.  That's a very nice offer.”   His gaze is soft, his voice is kind.

Muriel comes up, too, also on the pretense of bringing items for Asra's list.

“Yes... thank you.”  This time, when Muriel speaks, he doesn't look to Asra for confirmation.

Whether Muriel actually feels that way, or if he's simply more confident about what Asra would want him to say - it's hard to tell.  But, at the very least, Muriel seems more comfortable with the idea, and Asra is pleased with that.  He wants Muriel to feel like it's okay to talk, even if Arlo won't forget him.  He wants him to know it's okay to talk.

He wants them to hurry up and be friends, but he's content that they seem to be getting along.  Even if that means he'll have to keep thinking up scenarios to have them working together.

Asra doesn't mind.  He's used to planning long-term, and he's used to waiting.  It doesn't bother him to go slow, as long as progress is being made.  It's a start.