Bell tucks himself away in a far corner of the gnome's grand library. It's a fantastic building with more books in one wing than he could read with ten lifetimes, but it breaks the mold in being the first of the dungeon city he would consider 'less than.' The library of Athens dwarfed it by several orders, in both size and beauty, and even it pales in comparison to the Temple to the Written Word in Alexandros of Shalzard.

He supposes it should come as no surprise when the books and scrolls he peruses are of no help to him. Each one quite novel in their uselessness.

Any further musings will have to wait, for he has company. He hears their tentative approach, the way they pause just a short distance away as if in silent debate or surprise, before a single set of feet bravely continues on and quietly takes the seat across from him.

He finishes his page, absorbing precisely none of the information it holds, before glancing up at the newcomer. He's momentarily stunned to see the woman sitting across from him, not actually expecting to ever speak with her again, especially not so soon, nor in a place like this.

"Good morning," she murmurs.

Bell returns the greeting mechanically, not entirely sure what to expect from their second meeting. "Did you need something, Ais?"

She shakes her head, but quickly winces and nods. "We were sent to collect some research materials for Riveria—um. Nine Hells? The elven princess?" He smiles smally and nods to her, assuring her he knows of whom she speaks. "She wished to research more on monsters and, well."

"And I've conveniently stolen away with all of the available sources?" Their muses were likely the same. He could not get the intelligent monsters out of his head since the day before, he doubts the Alf princess is any different.

Anybody else might have simpered or squeamed, but Ais only nods her head. "Yes."

"Well," he shrugs, "I've read enough. She may not find much from these past useless tidbits on dietary restrictions and growth rates or behaviors, but you're welcome to them."

She watches him for a moment before turning her head and waving over her companions. It's a mixed group, mostly young elves, and likely new recruits to the familia to be given such menial work. That's how he would've delegated the work, at least. "Please take these back home," she instructs. The Loki familia must be rich indeed if they would pay the library's immense entrance fee just for retrieval.

One of them, a woman a fair bit older than the rest with a head of closely sheared orange hair, glances between Ais and himself. She steps forward after a second's pause. "Will you not be returning with us, Miss Ais?"

A pair of golden eyes finds his and Ais shakes her head. "No, not yet."

The elf frowns. "Lady Riveria may not like that," she warns, "She asked you specifically to ensure the tomes made it to her safely."

"And now I'm trusting you to do the same, Lefiya."

Though she clearly disapproves, the elven woman—Lefiya, the Elf of a Thousand, he thinks he's heard her called—dips her head in assent, dropping the matter. Still, she fixes him with a cold look as she turns away, as if he were somehow to blame. Don't look at me, he tries to tell her with his eyes, he doesn't know any more than she does.

With the group gone and the table cleared of the books, scrolls, and tablets, they are free to talk. There's just one small issue: he has no idea what they are meant to talk about, nor any idea why Ais might wish to stay behind with him.

"My mother told me you were kind enough to escort her home again."

Ah, Bell thinks with a nod, so that's what this was about. "It was no problem." Then, he waits for one of two things to happen: either Ais would say whatever it is she wished to say, or she would leave. Naturally, neither happens. He's forced to improvise and looks to where her group was at, gesturing to their backs. "I hope I'm not causing you any trouble with your familia."

She tilts her head to the side, just barely. "Riveria will not care." Her spine straightens and she gently shuts one eye, pressing two fingers into the temple opposite. "Uwah," she mimics, before saying in the characteristic flatness of her own voice, "That girl," with a shake of her head. Only once Bell's face is suitably perplexed does Ais offer him a shrug. "That's all that she will say."

He nods like he understands. He doesn't. " … right."

Ais bobs her head and lifts her lips in a slight smile. "Are you busy?"

Not anymore, he wasn't. He shakes his head. "No, ma'am."

She starts to stand once his head shakes, but his words give her pause. Slowly, she pans up to look at him, halfway from her seat, and her pink lips pull to one side in such a way that it's easy to tell that she's deeply amused by her new title. "Ma'am?"

Bell fidgets atop his uncomfortable chair. "Miss?"

"Ais will do." When he has nothing he can say in reply, she moves closer and assures him, "Everybody else calls me that."

They leave the library as one, and Bell quietly thanks the ostiaries who hold the doors open for them. There are plenty of eyes upon them as soon as they hit the streets, and he resists the urge to flick his hood up. He never quite understood the obsessions some held for adventurers, within the city or without; people were drawn to strength, he understood—knew it well—but the degree of possessiveness he felt in those stares made his skin crawl. They treat their idols like property, and none were more idyllic than Ais Waldstein.

He shifts from one foot to the other, hoping wherever Ais wished to lead him would be away from so many prying eyes. It's midday by now and the streets are louder than he prefers.

There stands a great awning overshadowing the streets outside the library, so they do not reenter the sun for quite some time. It causes him to squint and sneeze when it finally hits his pale eyes, and then they are on their way.

Ais leads him to a small store in the city's northwest. It sits a short walk down from the Pantheon, and they have to walk beneath a floating walkway to get to it. He only gets a quick look of the exterior before he realizes they're headed inside, but it seems impressive enough. What he finds within only seconds that.

There are glass display cases carrying runic artifacts and well-forged armor. He sees a ruby-encrusted helmet in one and a circlet in another, and across from both a magic sword hovers above a faintly glowing pedestal. He walks over to it and pokes its fuller, sending it spiraling through the air like a helix, but never leaving the bounds of its base. He hums quietly to himself as he browses a few more of the items, before looking around to find wherever Ais had wandered off to.

A quick scan of the walls opposite himself shows nothing more than an armored man and a dwarf in quiet conversation, so he keeps looking. He goes left first, searching between the various battleweave dresses and pants which hung from mannequin dolls in the corner, leafing through the various options which hung from the walls, but no.

"Do you like those?"

Bell jumps, there's no denying it, he jumps and lets out a quiet yipe before he smacks his knee into the wall. It throbs something fierce and he defaults to standing on one foot to lessen the pain. His voice lilts higher in a wince as he asks, almost demands, "How long have you been there?"

Ais frowns and looks around. "I've been beside you the whole time?"

Groaning, he drags his hand down his face, leaving it to rest over his chin, and shakes his head. Not for the last time, he curses his decision to temporarily leave his falna behind and all of the implications it wrought. He truly took his goddess-blessed abilities for granted. Sure, it made it easier to get in and out of the city without consequence, but it also made him painfully vulnerable—among other things. So much so that he couldn't even fully keep track of his surroundings, it seems.

Ais watches him patiently, so he gives himself another few moments to collect himself before shaking his head. "They're nice," he answers her original question, "I imagine the freedom of movement is helpful, but they're hardly a replacement for good armor."

"Mm."

He leans closer and thumbs the fabric, but it doesn't feel much different than standard clothing. "I suppose they would be rather impressive supplementally. Cross-woven with something like salamander wool or lux silk and it would prove to be great for some underclothes."

"Lux silk?"

"Yes, um," he tries to recall what he knows of their kind, "They're spirits of light, right? Shape shifters and mischievous by nature. Fabric imbued with their power makes things feel lighter and, well, it helps diffuse light-based attacks, too, but those are fairly rare, ne?" A shrug, he brings his attention back to what's on display. "However, in the case of clothes like these, it might be quite helpful. Battleweave is a lot heavier than normal clothes."

Ais's nose crinkles cutely and Bell has to drag his attention back by the ankle so he can continue along to the topic at hand. "I've never met a Lux," she murmurs, moving to his shoulder and testing some of the dresses for herself, "Are they very common outside the city?"

He doesn't question why she might think that was information he might have. "Not particularly. They keep to themselves as most spirits do. And those that make themselves known tend to live more near elven forests and settlements, since they're less likely to be bothered too badly there." At least, that was where he'd seen the one he had. Only the briefest of a glimpse. A multicolor bird in flight. "The relationship between mortals and spirits has only deteriorated since the age of heroes. A companionship hasn't been seen in hundreds of years, at least. People seem to believe the gods and their blessings made them obsolete, and spirit sightings have become rare ever since their descent."

"Do you?"

It takes him a moment to understand. "Do I think them obsolete?" Ais hums, confirming it. "No, not particularly. I'd never say anyone was useless, but I also think things are better as they are now. Spirits are finite, monsters and mortals are not. I'd rather see them pursue whatever makes them happy, rather than fight in our wars. Even if it increases the burden on the rest of us." He turns to smile at his companion, a little dopey. "It would be sweet to be one's companion, though, wouldn't it?"

"It would." Call it dreaming or wishful thinking, but he thinks her grin looks alot like his own. Cheshire and hopeful. A moment passes and it's gone, but he doubts he would forget it so easily. "Do you think it would make a good gift?"

He blinks, coming to. "A spirit?"

"The clothes," she says through a small smile, jostling one of the dress's skirts and filling the air with its starlit sounds. With her other hand, she covers her teeth, obviously amused.

"Oh." Bell swallows, wishing he could blame her laughter for striking him dumb, but knowing the timeline wouldn't work in his favor. "They might be rather expensive? I'm not sure, it's hard to say. What's the gift for exactly?"

Her head bobs and she eyes him rather critically before admitting, "A thank you."

"Ah," he says, nodding. That didn't clear anything up, honestly. "I think it would make for a fine gift, Ais."

That seems to be the answer she is looking for, as she soon departs for the counter to speak with the clerk. Bell watches her go, confused by her actions but not knowing her well enough to question them.

He chooses to wait by the door for her and leans against its frame. At one point, Ais and the clerk both turn to look at him, and his brows furrow as he silently wonders why that is. Neither says anything to him, and they return to their conversation a moment thereafter. When they finally seem to reach an accord, Ais wanders back his way, notably empty-handed,

"Did you choose not to buy it?"

She shakes her head. "I'm having something custom made. It should be done in a week, he says."

Custom-made, battleweave clothes. Bell lets out a low, impressed whistle at that. "Remind me to get on your good side; a man can never have too much armor."

Her smile is cryptic and happy as she approaches him. He misinterprets her target for the door and begins to hold it open for her, but she grabs his wrist and drags him over to the clerk. "He needs measurements to forge it," Ais informs him.

"Right." A smith or a tailor he may not be, but he can understand that. "Your gift will probably be less of a surprise then."

Suddenly, she stops. Bell doesn't notice until her arm locks on his like an anchor; it's far from tight, their difference in strengths was just that great at the moment. Golden eyes look up at him imploringly. "Do gifts have to be surprises?"

"No?" He's confused. Hadn't her intention been for it to be a surprise? "Gifts just have to be … gifts."

They're on the move again. Ais skips to the counter and skips the introductions, pushing Bell toward the back with a hand to his chest. "Please measure him," she instructs the clerk. He asks her none of the questions he should, but neither does Bell.

The backroom he's led to is chaotic. Floor to ceiling fabric spools; mysterious sewing machines; and—it takes a moment for his eyes to refocus, but he's pretty sure that's just a ton of orichalcum in the corner. There's barely any time to browse. The clerk relieves him of his cloak first, his pants second, allowing himself only a short moment to stare. "Arms out," he instructs in a strangely dwarven accent for a human.

Bell tilts his head to the side and chuckles. "Slight problem."

The clerk desires to hear nothing of it. "No," he insists, "no problems. You will put arms out to either side; like this." He demonstrated how to do it, as if something was somehow lost in translation. It wasn't.

"But I'm not the person these are intended for. You have the wrong guy."

"Are you paying?" When Bell gives an inevitable shake of his head, the barrel of a man pulls a safety pin from his wild hair and pricks the back of his hand. "Then doesn't matter. Paying customer asked for lux-battleweave to your measurements. When fishbone pays, he can decide who puts arms out. Now," he lofts his pin in challenge, "will there be slight problem?"

Bell put his arms up, if only so he could leave sooner and with fewer holes.

Ais is waiting at the counter when he returns, surrounded by three different men of varying sizes. Each one is grinning and carefully sucking in their stomachs and chins, but Ais hardly sees them. She claps and smiles when she spots Bell over the counter and each of the men foolishly believe it's meant for them.

"Did it go well?" She slips seamlessly through the men surrounding her like an autumn leaf in the wind, drifting down through its tree's many limbs.

He rubs his shoulder with his left hand, but the act soon turns into a much needed neck massage. "I suppose," he answers doubtfully, "I don't understand why you had me be the model, though. If you're paying the price for something custom, you should make sure it's going to fit."

Her brow furrows. "Why wouldn't it fit?"

The door chimes as they leave. "I'm sure it'll fit me splendidly," otherwise that clerk was far too intense, "but I'm not the one the gift is intended for."

"I wouldn't worry too much about it." She tucks a few locks behind her ear and checks the time by looking for the sun. "I'm hungry. Would you care for an early dinner?"

"Um." It feels more like a late lunch to him.

Ais turns and starts walking down the street, apparently already knowing what his answer would be. "I know a place that's close. Follow me."