[Of course, thanks to Therion leaving his calling card, it doesn't take much for Cyrus to sort out who had paid him a visit. Though the ink blots on the scrap of paper his friend had left behind should have been sign enough that something was wrong, Cyrus settles for rubbing ink away from his upper lip with the back of his hand, smearing it across the cheek that had previously been left unmarred. Not ideal, he supposes, but he can wash up after he's found Therion— it's hardly the first time he's wound up with ink stains on his face or hands after falling asleep while working, after all. He is a career bookworm.
The angry eyebrows, the heart, and the quill all go unnoticed— for now. Even the whispers and laughs of various pedestrians as he makes his way past don't quite draw his attention, oblivious as he tends to be, and when he reaches the door of Therion's residence to knock, he seems more amused than anything, at least for now.
He has yet to encounter a mirror. That may change.]
this is beautiful
The angry eyebrows, the heart, and the quill all go unnoticed— for now. Even the whispers and laughs of various pedestrians as he makes his way past don't quite draw his attention, oblivious as he tends to be, and when he reaches the door of Therion's residence to knock, he seems more amused than anything, at least for now.
He has yet to encounter a mirror. That may change.]