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"Good idea," Macati praised cheerfully. Kysera shot him a disdainful look, fluttering sleepily over to
Guylian. He settled in Guylian's cupped hands, cooing something remarkably whiny at Guylian.

"I thought you'd want to be awake when I made your friend," Guylian said, smiling faintly. Macati  steadfastly ignored the way the soft, happy expression made his chest ache. Kysera perked up at Guylian's  words, his wings lifting curiously. He took flight, cooing softly as he made a wobbly landing on Guylian's  shoulder.

Guylian smiled a little wider, tucking back his hair so Kysera could settle in more comfortably. He'd been  wearing his hair down since Macati's unfortunate slip—but, well, he had been doing that before, too.
Especially while they were at home, to minimize Kysera's opportunities to steal his hair ribbons.

Macati pushed his books a little further away, sitting up straight as Guylian picked up the paper he'd  written the spell out on. He cleared his throat, glancing inquisitively at Macati.

"Go on," Macati said encouragingly. Guylian nodded, rubbing at his still-flushed cheeks before beginning  to speak the spell slowly. Macati leaned back, listening with half an ear as Guylian flawlessly spoke the
Civomic words.

At least he didn't have to worry about Guylian's pronunciation. That was one of the worst parts of  teaching new apprentices—Civomic wasn't an easy language to learn, even if healer-mages had a worse  time with Thocari.

Macati rather thought Guylian would have done well with Civomic even if he hadn't had the bonus of  growing up speaking the language. Guylian learned well.

He was happier now too, ever since his visit with Tlory. It grated, that Tlory had that effect, and Macati  couldn't shake the suspicion that Tlory was up to no good. But Guylian was happier and Macati couldn't  help but be pleased with that.

Even if he wished he was the one bringing it about.

Macati sighed quietly. He'd just have to figure out some way to talk to Tlory, to make sure he understood  just how dire the consequences would be if he hurt Guylian in any way. Maybe then he could work out the  reason for Tlory's interest.

Guylian's voice faltered, and Macati blinked, focusing again as Guylian coughed a little. It was more solid  sounding than a throat-clearing cough, and Macati cursed silently, peering at Guylian pensively.

He didn't look sick—unless the color in his cheeks was indicative of a fever instead of shyness.

"Are you all right?" Macati asked, hopefully before his staring became creepy.

"I'm fine," Guylian mumbled half-heartedly, pulling his by now cool tea closer. He took a sip, hiding a  wince as Kysera tugged impatiently on his hair.

"Can you pick up where you left off or do you need to start again?" Macati asked, wondering if Guylian  had mangled a spell word or two with the coughing fit. Guylian would know—Macati just hadn't been  paying enough attention.

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For answer, Guylian just started casting again, from the middle of the spell—presumably from where he'd  left off. He spoke more slowly, and his voice sounded a bit hoarse. Macati hoped fervently it was from  talking too much and not from an impending bout of flu.

Guylian finished the spell without further mishap, and Macati grinned at the small construct curled on the  table in front of Guylian. It was still a long moment, and Kysera took that time to flutter down to the table,  landing awkwardly a few inches away from the new pixie.

The new pixie was a little smaller than Kysera, but its wings were larger and patterned with bright, vibrant  swirls of color. It also had a shock of vibrantly orange hair that was currently the object of Kysera's  fascinated stare.

The pixie shook out its wings, staring at the far wall for a moment before turning to look at Macati. Macati  stared back, thrown because the pixie's eyes weren't anything like what had been laid out in Guylian's spell.
They were supposed to be a pale green, but instead they were a swirling, chaotic mess of more colors than
Macati could name.

"I have no idea how you did that, but it's definitely interesting," Macati said, leaning forward. The pixie's  attention was diverted though, and its strange eyes focused intently on Kysera, who had been unstealthily  sneaking up on him. Kysera cooed curiously, sidling closer as the pixie's eyes shifted into a new array of  colors.

"Huh." Guylian looked utterly perplexed. Macati snickered as the new pixie hooted softly, sounding just  like the owl from which Guylian had copied the voice.

"You can work it out later. Probably something you coughed or we said in the interim was close to some  word in Civomic," Macati said. Guylian nodded, smiling a little as Kysera reached out towards the new  pixie's face, apparently intent on putting his fingers on the pixie's curious eyes.

"Have you decided what you're going to name him yet?" Macati asked, amused as the new pixie knocked
Kysera's questing hands away from his face.

"No," Guylian said, frowning thoughtfully. "I don't—you could name him, if you wanted to? I named
Kysera."

"Oh, um." Macati paused, startled. "I'm not very good at names." He paused, then shrugged. "How about
Blake?"

"I like it," Guylian said, smiling a little as he watched the pixies. They were circling each other slowly,  exchanging quiet chirps and looking rather baffled by each other. At least they weren't fighting.

Macati whistled softly, nothing like the sharp noise he'd used to startle Kysera out of his next with. Kysera  still shot him a disdainful look, but the new pixie turned to look at him curiously, his eyes swirling again  before setting into a new pattern of color.

"Would you like to be called Blake?" Macati asked, wondering if he was about to get his own pixie, like
Kysera was with Guylian.

The pixie cocked his head consideringly. Kysera snorted and fluttered off to land on Guylian's shoulder,  half-hiding himself in the fall of Guylian's hair. The new pixie rolled his eyes, making the color swirl again.
He nodded, shooting Kysera a smug look before picking his way across the table gracefully to the space
Macati had cleared before Guylian had cast the spell.
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He stopped directly in front of Macati, hooting imperiously. Guylian poorly muffled a laugh and Macati  was hard pressed to keep from laughing himself—Blake's looks and his manner were completely at odds  with each other.

"I don't speak owl," Macati said solemnly. "What do you want?"

Blake huffed, flexing his wings before awkwardly lifting off. He flew haphazardly towards Macati before  landing and nearly tipping himself off of Macati's shoulder. Macati steadied him carefully, wondering if  there was something in the spell that kept the pixies from flying properly. But they could fly, so perhaps it  was just a matter of practice?

Guylian was still smiling, but he was paying more attention to Kysera than he was to Blake and Macati.
Kysera was pouting and cooing something quietly as Guylian hummed and nodded in agreement.

"Do you want to work on your grimoire for the rest of the afternoon? I don't have anything else lined up  for you yet," Macati said, sitting as still as he could to keep from knocking Blake off his shoulder. The pixie  unhelpfully shifted, standing and fluttering his wings next to Macati's ear.

"All right," Guylian agreed easily, and then sneezed three times in quick succession. Macati smothered a  smile—he really shouldn't think the way Guylian sneezed adorable. Kysera took off, looking rather  alarmed, headed straight for his nest in the skylight.

"Ulgh," Guylian muttered, sniffling a bit. "I'm fine."

"I didn't say anything," Macati said, biting his lip but probably failing utterly to hide his smile. "You can't  sit there."

Guylian stared, looking completely flummoxed, and Macati carefully nudged Blake, knocking him from his  tenuous perch. "Go see if Kysera will share his nest with you."

Blake hooted in what was presumably agreement, fluttering off without a backwards look.

"You can also just do some reading," Macati offered, because that was a relatively low-risk activity. Guylian  wouldn't muck up a page or spill ink or say a spell word wrong if he was just reading. "I'll leave it up to  you."

"Okay," Guylian said quietly, and Macati noted with resignation that his cheeks were still flushed.
Hopefully it was nothing—or allergies, or something—but Macati was going to make sure they had plenty  of ingredients for soup and tea on-hand, just in case.

*\^/*

Guylian groaned softly, burying his head under his pillow. It did nothing to muffle the pounding in his  head, but it did help muffle Kysera and Blake, who had taken to cooing and chirping at each other as soon  as they woke up in the morning.

He didn't bother moving, wondering vaguely why he'd thought it such a great idea to give the pixies voices.
Except he hadn't thought of it—Macati had. Guylian sighed, burying his head deeper under his pillow and  sniffling loudly.

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The pixies settled down after a while, letting Guylian fall into a light doze. He wasn't sure how much later  it was that he startled awake again, nearly sending himself crashing to the floor in surprise. How long he'd  been asleep, he wasn't sure, but the room was brighter even if it felt like he'd only just fallen asleep.

It took him a moment to fully wake up, and even then he couldn't figure out what had woken him until he  heard the knock again.

Macati had a spell on the front door that amplified the sound of anyone knocking on the door. It was a  simple spell, in place just to let Macati hear anyone at the door no matter where he was in the house.

Guylian hesitated a moment before crawling out of bed. He was still tired, but if Macati had a customer…  well, Guylian should probably be there for that, even if he'd rather avoid the townsfolk where he could.
Maybe whoever it was would be gone by the time he actually made it downstairs. Guylian slowly changed  into fresh clothes, fruitlessly trying to clear his throat as he moved slowly around his little corner of the  work room.

Kysera and Blake stayed in the skylight—Guylian wasn't completely sure what they were doing, but he  thought they might be expanding Kysera's nest. He'd managed to recover three hair ribbons when they'd  been lost in the jostling and rearranging the pixies were doing.

He was nearly tempted to retrieve the rest, but Kysera would get upset and he thought the nest might  totally disintegrate if he took back all the ribbons.

Trudging down the stairs slowly, Guylian sniffed as quietly as he could manage, listening for voices as he  went. His sock-clad feet were nearly soundless on the stairs, and he could hear the quiet, soothing murmur  of Macati's voice. He couldn't make out the words though; Macati was speaking too quietly for Guylian to  make out any words.

Guylian somehow managed reached the bottom of the stairs without tripping over himself or coughing out  part of his throat. It appeared, however, that he was feverish—which explained why the house was so  warm—and hallucinating, because it didn't make any sense for Tlory to be at the door. He and Macati  weren't friendly yet.

"He looks well enough to me," Tlory said, meeting Guylian's eyes. A smirk curved his lips for a second  before slipping away. He ducked around Macati quickly, with the same grace Guylian had seen him exhibit  waiting tables.

"What—" Guylian began, pausing to clear his throat when the word came out impossibly mangled. "What  are you doing here?"

"You didn't show," Tlory said cheerfully. Guylian stared at him blankly. It wasn't Tuesday already was it?
"It is Tuesday," Tlory said, snickering a little. Guylian shifted, smiling a little sheepishly. "I suppose I can  forgive you, though. Eating frogs would throw off anyone's day."

"I didn't eat a frog," Guylian said, perplexed. His voice sounded better the more he used it, too. He  glanced nervously at Macati, who was just shutting the door. Macati's expression didn't give anything away  though, and Guylian shifted uncomfortably again, not really sure what to do now that he had Tlory and
Macati in the same room.

"No, you ate more than one," Tlory said confidently, shaking his head ruefully. "You shouldn't listen to the  street vendors. Frogs do not taste like chicken. Are you on the beginning end or the ending end?"

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"Beginning end, so don't stay too long," Macati said, frowning a little as he studied Guylian. Guylian's face  didn't get any hotter—probably it couldn't—so that was some silver lining to getting a little sick. "I'll make  up some tea." Macati sounded rather resigned. "That will help your throat some. Do you think you can eat  anything?"

"Um," Guylian said, blinking a few times. "I guess?"

Macati smiled reluctantly, shaking his head a little. "I'll bring you something. If you don't eat it, I'm sure
Tlory will."

Tlory shrugged, staring at Macati blankly. Macati didn't seem perturbed by it, at least. Guylian coughed a  little, wondering a little bleakly if he even stood a chance of making them right.

"You can hang out in the sitting room," Macati decreed, and Guylian nodded, coughing again to try and  soothe the itch in his throat. He stumbled down the last step into the hallway, fighting the urge to say  something stupid as he crossed the hallway to the parlor.

He'd only been in the parlor once or twice, and never for very long. It wasn't much nicer than the rest of  the house, but the rest of the house was really nice. It was a little more austere, a little less lived in, but that  made sense—it was the public face of the house, the place Macati showed people he didn't know very well.

Which was why he'd directed them in there—Macati probably didn't want Tlory in the work room, and  letting them in the kitchen would be a little strange.

The furniture was a quaint, matching, and done completely in wicker. There were two chairs, a small  loveseat, and a few small, low tables; they were painted white and green, with a trailing vine decoration that  twined through the edges of the chairs and the corners of the tables. A small, wire bookcase sat in one  corner of the room, and it and a wide ledge above the large fireplace held a neat array of bland curios.

Guylian shuffled into the room slowly, wondering why Tlory had bothered to come looking for him.
Probably just to annoy Macati, but why he'd stayed… Guylian wasn't exactly the greatest source of  entertainment or conversation when he was in perfect health. He didn't think that getting sick was going to  make things any better on that score.

Settling down in the chair closest the door, he watched Tlory make his way past. He settled in the near seat  of the loveseat, slumping back and propping his feet up on the table in front of him.

"So, Guylian," Tlory began, grinning impishly. "How are you feeling? You don't look too terrible."

"I'm fine," Guylian muttered, even managing to say it without croaking. "Just… tired, mostly."

"I can go away," Tlory said thoughtfully, tilting his head curiously at Guylian. "I'd rather not, because I'd  miss spending the time with you—"

"You'd miss the opportunity to pester Macati," Guylian said, then realized he'd said it, not thought it, and  clapped a hand over his mouth. Tlory just laughed, though, slouching further in his seat.

"There is that. But if you get sick of me or if I wear you out—" Tlory paused, leering at him playfully.
Guylian rolled his eyes a little, glad his cheeks were perpetually flushed right now because that way he  couldn't inadvertently encourage Tlory's flirting.

"Okay," Guylian said after a moment, making Tlory snicker again.
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