#//jugdral inventing things to be insecure about that she's never even conceived of before

[verseandrhyme]

As so many do when confronted about something that they are obviously trying to keep from the attention of the others, he insists that he is fine. The urge to roll her eyes has to be fought against. How ridiculous, to insist one's self as the picture of health while hiding behind a hankerchief like some kind of fragile waif. Despite his prudence, no further coughs follow...an observation she is distracted from near immediately as he leans towards her.

Mitama blinks at the remark, subconciously leaning back from him. Though he comments on her eyes, it is easy to tell at this distance that his attention lays elsewhere. Her...hair? She frowns, slightly. Her hair has always been one of the brighter shades, but she does not think it so unusual. There are a great many at the Academy alone with shades far more eye catching than she considers her own (that Lions student with dual coloured hair comes immediately to mind). The style, perhaps then? It is something more unique to Hoshido...so she has been told.

...it is not worth worrying herself over, even if this odd librarian seems to find it particularly interesting for some reason. "I have studied and performed as a healer in the past. Learning to spot the stubborn types who insist on hiding is a part of the job." She does not believe her assessment to be incorrect in the slightest, but she has no reason to push further when she has been denied.

Mitama scans the nearby shelf quickly before pulling out another book relating to the application of reason magic, and adds it to the pile in her arms. "Call it worry, if you like. I call it not wanting to be inconvenienced by a collapsed body in the library. You can probably argue for leniency on your first few shifts, you know?"

@verseandrhyme asked: As she removes a book from one of the shelves, Mitama catches a glimpse of the newest library. Ordinarily, this is a situation which is not worth remarking on. Librarians come and go, just like many other staff members at the Academy. A new face is not worth commenting on, unless it is a familiar one. Ordinarily, however, they do not appear so sickly. After a moment, she sighs heavily, knowing it will irritate her if she allows sleeping dogs to lie, before quietly approaching the staff member. "Excuse me." She keeps her voice low, as befitting the library. "I do not intend to intrude, but are you alright? You appear to be a bit..." Hmm, telling him to his face that he looks ragged is likely not wise. "unwell. If you require assistance, the infirmary is not far off."

※— THE FIRST THING HE NOTICES IS NOT THE STARS BUT THE BLEED OF HER HAIR. It is pink and awfully, awfully rare in Jugdral. And better yet, she craved his attention in a way many others did—a case of compassion lended to his flesh, as if he were human. As if his ailment could even be conferrable to the kind a mere infirmary could seek to heal. Still, he should not degrade her outreach—if his pallor had been so evident, he was surely down on his luck.

Her whisper reached him. Isn't she fortunate? "...Oh." His eyes clasp with kindness, wrinkling like the strings holding up his mother had lent its pull to him.

"Yes, I'm..."

I am no mere charity case.

The polite clearing of his throat dropped, sounding more and more like a heavy case of wet lung. He floated his hand to his throat, wincing, before bringing up a handkerchief to cover his mouth.

The coughing fit never comes.

"Thank you for your concern. You have discerning eyes, don't you?"

Pulling down two books from his end, he leaned in. Closer. Handkerchief still up to his mouth. Eyes not reflecting the stars, but the pink hair that no one coveted in Jugdral.

"Sorry for worrying you."