"Hey Sylvaine.."
A timid feminine voice calls out to him as she walks up to Sylvaine by the sofas at the end of the Lecture Hallway by the staircase,
"It's me, Fyo.. na. I know I look quite different since we last met. My biggest transfiguration spell yet was successful. But I thought I'd drop by, uhm.. how have you been lately?" She shuffles awkwardly in-place, fidgeting with her gloved fingers. The noble sanguine prodigy meets his gaze with that familiar meekness.
"And I'd like to apologise for the scare I gave you in our last assignment together. I hope you're not mad at me but I completely understand if you won't forgive me for that.."
- Magister Fyo
“FYO—”
Sylvaine catches her eyes just as she flinches, and a small, almost imperceptible smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“…na!” he finishes smoothly, letting the syllable hang in the air.
He steps a fraction closer, tilting his head, surveying her.
“Well,” he says, voice dipped in mock concern, “I must say… ambitious spells suit you. And you’ve clearly grown since last I saw you.” His eyes drift over her with just enough weight to make her self-conscious.
“But tell me, Fyo-na…” He lets the syllable linger, deliberately casual, “do you always make such a habit of startling others, or am I merely… honored?”
He lets a small laugh escape — soft, teasing — leaning slightly against the nearest railing, arms crossed. “And as for your father,” he adds lightly, half shrugging as if the man barely exists, “don’t worry about it. He’s… not exactly a challenge. I handled it. No harm done. You can leave the theatrics to him.”
“Honestly, you know,” he adds, tone smooth but edged with ego, “it’s easier to… tolerate your presence now that I can see you’re at least trying to be… useful. Still,” — he tilts his head, smirk widening — “I suppose I could allow a little more charm. For someone like you, that is.”