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Sitting across from Siryn, a cup of tea nearly to his lips, Amiel's expression was just about as forbidding as it got these days. He was, all things considered, doing very well -- well enough in his meditation that Siryn had been hinting, not so subtly of late, that he begin the next phase of the "healing process." Amiel wasn't certain exactly what the next phase entailed, and truth be told, he had some misgivings. The little kirin, though having proven to hold wisdom beyond what one would expect of him, was a little too spirited for his tastes at times.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Siryn, exactly, just that... he didn't trust him, exactly.

"Explain to me why this is necessary," He demanded calmly, taking a sip of the tea. It was blueberry flavored, a surprising favorite of his. This made his eyes narrow a bit; what was Siryn up to?

"Oh, Amiel." Tiny hands flipped a knife into the air capably, caught it casually as it began to slice generous helpings of sweet bread and stack them on a plate. "Is anything really necessary? Is your being here necessary? I was under the impression you were a willing student of mine."

At least once a week they went rounds about this, and each time, Amiel had to grudgingly admit that yes, he was a willing student, and no, there wasn't actually any point in complaining. Siryn seemed amused by the exchanges in general, and had once pointed out the fact that Amiel was being so bad-tempered about the ordeal meant that the training was working.

Well. He wasn't certain about that, but it did seem easier to manage himself as of late. He wasn't exactly peaceful, but he was getting close.

Siryn drifted over, set a plate in front of Amiel, and perched on the edge of the seat. "There we are. Our guests will be here soon."

Amiel set his tea aside, reaching for a piece of sweet bread as he spoke. "I have never trained an individual in anything before, Siryn. I was a solitary warrior; you know this."

"Mm, yes." Tail flicking lightly, it peered at Amiel with calm, bright eyes. "But you are not what you were, and will not forever be what you are. If you wish to change, Amiel, then begin to change."

He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, feeling the first dregs of annoyance stirring inside of him, and looked away. He wasn't a man prone to arguing in the first place, but with Siryn, there was absolutely no point. The little beast could argue its way out of a dragon's den, he was fairly certain.

There was a knock on the door, but Amiel didn't budge.

Siryn rose, tiny wings buzzing behind it, and drifted to the door. Upon opening it, it smiled, greeting cheerfully, "Good afternoon to you. Please, come in. Amiel and I are just sitting down to tea and bread."

Siryn was amused, but it didn't say so. The poor twilif probably felt awkward and out of place, so it didn't want to make the ordeal even more of a painful endeavor; it simply drifted back, ushering the little being in through the door. Amiel remained seated, calmly eating his lunch, and Siryn had to resist rolling its eyes.

"Welcome. Don't be shy; there are places for everyone." Siryn gestured around the room, where there were seats of varying heights surrounding a cheerful, aged table. There was one stool, very low, for the very tall; Amiel was seated there. There were a couple of mid-sized chairs with high backs, one of which would undoubtedly do for the twilif. The tallest was Siryn's own, painted a rich purple, with little gold gems ringing the edges of the stool.

Everything in its house was colorful and cheerful, and though it seemed like it should have clashed, somehow, everything fit together in just the right away. Siryn had a knack for decorating, and liked to surround itself with pretty, interesting things; it had also had many years to make them all fit and work.

Perching on the edge of its stool, Siryn buzzed its wings one more time before settling and reaching for the tea. "Why don't you two get to know one another?"

Amiel glanced to the twilif, his eyes dark and serious as ever, the strange red aura glowing from them. His posture was stiff and formal, though one who had known him for a time, as Siryn had, would be able to see how much it had relaxed. Still, to a new acquaintance, he looked very solemn and grim, and his face held no warm; his gaze was stern, his mouth in a rigid line, even as he raised a tiny floral teacup and sipped.

After a time, he said, "Good afternoon."

Amiel was doing nothing to be intimidating. He was simply drinking tea out of a delicate cup, and he was no longer even looking at the twilif. Still, his presence was enough to inspire nerves, and he did his best to ignore it. No matter what form of peace he attained for himself, he would never shed his demonic visage, and he was beginning to come to terms for that. Things like smiles and laughter didn't sit well on his face, nor come easily to him; he supposed they never would. It was partially his own fault, but he would do the best that he could with what he had been given.

He set his teacup down, slid his gaze slowly to the twilif beside him. Silence pulsed between them, extended a beat just beyond what was comfortable, before he murmured, "Your tea will get cold."

Vaguely, he gestured to where Siryn had poured a cup. The kyrn smiled, sliding a plate with a couple of slices of bread on it over, adding, "Help yourself. We have more than enough."

Plucking another piece for himself, he was surprised, as always, by the quality of the food. When Amiel cooked, it was just enough to keep from making himself sick by what he ate; Siryn cooked for flavor, cooked for pleasure. It said that it soothed any ill feelings that it might harbor, though Amiel was hard pressed to remember a time when Siryn seemed down or angry about anything.