[ he's being indulged, kaveh knows. there's a moment where his lips quirk a little helplessly at that, because there's something about someone indulging you with the grace of a put-out saint that makes kaveh want to either thank them profusely or give them a little trouble for it. that's the thing, with people who were kind.

there were a lot of them here. they didn't know what they were getting into, but very few people in the universe at large did, and it was little moments like these that has kaveh knowing that people, in general, were good and tried to be so. ]

Right? [ is the pleased bob of kaveh's head. ] I'm glad you think so; I agree, of course. A life without creativity means that what is being built and created isn't meant to serve people. I've always thought that people need more than just lines and figures. This city says as much - I almost wish the old guard at the Akademiya could come live in this city for a month. Isn't this place the best example that function over all aspects of form doesn't work?

[ ... then, with a slight, red glint of mischief: ] Still, does that mean you don't mind if I painted your likeliness on the side of a wall? Say, four by fifteen metres in vibrant colour?