Welcome to Gaia! ::

Didero swept up the main hall for easily the third time that night. He'd managed to sequester his lusus, and therefore the rest of the flock to the upper levels of the hive. Still, fluff and dander appeared to have become a central component of his hive's foundation. He did his best to beat back the mess with a broom. Ultimately it all went into a hall closet he'd deal with later. Nothing a guest would see. The hive was actually looking pretty good, all things considered. The narrow tower and dark wood fixtures looked rather gloomy most of the time. With some elbow grease and multiple canisters of wood polish, Didero found the outcome to be quite striking. Of course decor like this could always use a little more oomph. A personal touch, even.

Speaking of, Didero heard the echo of the doorbell. He tossed the broom into the closet with the dust and scampered off in the direction of the foyer. He paused only to make sure his blazer and scarf were straight and his hair appropriately tousled. If there were ever a night to look put together, this was it.

Didero finally opened the door to greet Amonee Brycer, the artist they'd hired to paint a portrait for his library. Didero's eyebrows raised in time with the pitch of Amonee's voice. He had a greeting on the tip of his tongue, but Amonee was already a step or several ahead of him.

Didero's confusion and nerves settled at the mention of Lanres Ampane. He laughed and stepped aside, gesturing Amonee into his hive. "As a matter of fact I do! Mostly at book signings, though. I'm surprised you could make much of anything from that grainy photo they put on the dust jacket." Didero's joking tone did nothing to convey the very real irritation he felt towards that ugly newspaper-quality photo tacked onto his "about the author" blurb. While the practical part of his mind recognized the protection is provided his identity, his vanity took issue with looking like a censored image of a cryptid.

"To that end, the bar for this evening is set quite low, haha! Not that I expect anything but fantastic work from you, Amonee. I've seen your work after all."

Didero led the way into the interior of the hive. The center-most room was the library, and Didero's office. It was a narrow three stories broken up by ladders and landings. Didero had hardly enough books to fill even half the available shelf space, but he was clearly making an effort. On the bottom floor was a wide wood desk and a couple armchairs on thick rugs. Didero turned on lights that hung down from the ceiling on long chains. The effect was cozy, if not a little melodramatic.

"I was thinking we could set up shop in this block? I'm afraid the rest of the room isn't quite set up for company... You're the artist though! What can I do to help?"

Didero did his best to hide his fidgeting as Amonee took in the room. It was easily the block in his hive he was most proud of. (He found most of it to be embarrassing to be honest. Thank you for that, Father.) Didero clapped his hands together at Amonee's approval.

"Wonderful!" Didero walked over to the chair Amonee indicated. He inspected the furniture as though he'd never sat down before. He continued to meticulously arrange himself as Amonee set up his work station. Didero knew he was pretty, but how could he prettiest? There was more of a science to this than he'd anticipated.

He was broken from his tense deliberation by Amonee's small talk. Calculations forgotten, Didero sat normally in his chair and tapped his lip thoughtfully. "I've always been interested in writing. Ever since I was small," Didero replied. He then looked genuinely thoughtful. He hadn't honestly considered the thought process that took him to writing. He simply found himself wanting to do things, and then he did them. "Books are just so lovely. They're dramatic and thrilling, but they're also so neat. They have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Every character and event has its purpose and place. Everything goes according to plan--the author's plan, that is. There's something so attractive about taking one's own life experiences and bringing order in the form of a narrative." Didero looked wistful for a moment. His attention then returned to Amonee.

"What about you, dear? What first interested you in painting?" Didero leaned forward in his seat, steepling his fingers under his chin in interest.