It was late, and it was fucking cold.
Jeva sat crooked in the chipped crevice of a window, her breath caressing the old warped pane of glass only to freeze moments later and leave tiny veins of ice across the surface, watching terrible, persistent snow blanket the twisted and worn paths of Ishgard beyond to leave everything grey and white and miserable.
It was too late for visitors or patients, but Jeva left her doors unlocked; people in need tended not to bother with time or punctuality or even decency, and Jeva found she didn't really mind all that much when she had little to do in the small hours anyway, reading the same books over and again or painting some new, incredibly boring landscape piece, or smoking and drinking herself out of boredom.
A door slammed, bringing a cloud of snowy blowing wind with it, and Jeva twisted from her perch to look over to the entry with the energy of a person who could not be paid to hurry, her eyes narrowing with a familiar tired patience as she beheld the woman in the entryway.
"Alun."
It was admonishing, one-worded though it was, and as Jeva slipped from the sill to greet the Xaelan properly, ushering her out of the storm by way of pressing the door shut behind her and locking it, she sighed, folding her arms and watching the woman. "It is two and thirty, the middle of an unpleasant bout of weather, and you generally make a habit of informing me ahead of your visits. So."
She walked around Alun, reaching into the drawers of a nearby desk to fish out an old beaten carton of cigarettes, and wordlessly handed one over, knowing well enough that the woman would have a lighter of her own, then leaned against her desk.
"Jus' needed a place t'sleep." Alun huffed, dragging herself across the room to sit next to the one lit candle. She stuck the smoke into it, avoiding Jeva's gaze, relishing an excessive drag of the cigarette with a slow exhale.
"Just needed a place to sleep." Jeva repeated, pushing away from the desk to join the Xaela. She sat opposite her, leaning her elbows against the table, and wrapped her gloved hands around her features. "Did the fresh bruises need a place to sleep too?"
Alun knew Jeva. She knew her well enough to know that Jeva was a calm woman, hers an impregnable façade of well-practised disposition. Alun knew Jeva enough to know that calm did not mean emotionless. The question hung in the air between them, leaving the air pregnant with tension.
A gloved hand wrapped around the Xaela's jaw, twisting her head around.
"I believe I asked a question."