The action might surprise him, but it won't be because of its speed; Athessa is markedly unhurried as she leans down to wrap her arms around his shoulders. It's something of an awkward hug, with him more or less sideways to her and seated where she's standing, but that's all it is. A hug. Her cheek rests against his back.
"Thank you for apologizing. I'm sorry I worried you."
Byerly is not good at hugging. You might think that all those passionate embraces might give him some ability when it comes to tender embraces, but - nope; he's stiff and uncertain what to do with hands, elbows, et cetera. And so when she hugs him, he sits there a moment, and then reaches up and pats her hand. It's not patronizing or dismissive; rather, it's just sort of nervous. But still heartfelt.
"You were so concerned about me," she insists, with a little squeeze for emphasis. And then, when she lets go, she makes a little moue of regret.
"You care so much about my well-being that the mere thought that I'd been hurt distressed you silly. There's no use denying it. I know how you really feel."
By is too pallid and bloodless to blush, but the little twitch he gives in response to that embarrassing accusation conveys a sense of embarrassment nevertheless.
"I was - overdramatic," he says. Not quite an admission, but probably as close as she'll get. "It must have been quite obnoxious. You have my apologies."
She walks back to the side of the desk she's supposed to be on, though she doesn't return to her seat. If he doesn't actually have any questions about what happened at Medrod's inn, then the delivery of mead and receipt of apology is plenty.
Athessa crosses her arms over the back of the chair, leaning on it as she looks at Byerly. Her expression is one of consideration, the line of her mouth tucked towards one cheek.
"Well, alright," she concedes after a moment, clucking her tongue against the back of her teeth. "I forgave you for it already so he's got nothing to be displeased about, anyway."
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"Thank you for apologizing. I'm sorry I worried you."
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Byerly is not good at hugging. You might think that all those passionate embraces might give him some ability when it comes to tender embraces, but - nope; he's stiff and uncertain what to do with hands, elbows, et cetera. And so when she hugs him, he sits there a moment, and then reaches up and pats her hand. It's not patronizing or dismissive; rather, it's just sort of nervous. But still heartfelt.
"You didn't worry me. It's fine."
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"You care so much about my well-being that the mere thought that I'd been hurt distressed you silly. There's no use denying it. I know how you really feel."
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"I was - overdramatic," he says. Not quite an admission, but probably as close as she'll get. "It must have been quite obnoxious. You have my apologies."
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"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone," then, hedging, she shrugs. "Maybe Baz."
If there's anyone that already knows By's a big softie, it'd be Bastien.
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She walks back to the side of the desk she's supposed to be on, though she doesn't return to her seat. If he doesn't actually have any questions about what happened at Medrod's inn, then the delivery of mead and receipt of apology is plenty.
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"Well, alright," she concedes after a moment, clucking her tongue against the back of her teeth. "I forgave you for it already so he's got nothing to be displeased about, anyway."