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With a quiet tut-tut, Zevemar started moving around the floor and gathering up the scattered scrolls, books and general chaff from his father's work process. It wasn't uncommon for either of them to get so deep into studying or writing that the normal conventions of cleaning up after yourself no longer applied and both were used to the other picking up the slack. Without Zevemar around though, it seemed like it had been some time since anyone had even tried to make things look neat and proper.

While searching, [abbr=Arcana Roll: 15 + 5 = 20]Zevemar's attentive eyes picked up the names and incantations of a couple of spells[/abbr] that might be suitable for his spellbook. Nothing particularly impressive and certainly no evocation but useful, practical spells, exactly what he'd expect his father to be casting. He set them aside on one chair while replacing books back on the shelves and piling up paperwork on one of the tables. With any luck, his father would have scribing materials to spare and wouldn't mind sharing them with his beloved, if wayward, son.

Coming to rejoin the other two at the kitchen table and trying to avoid Io's smug gaze, Zev waits for an appropriate pause between Andrimar and Io's exchange to ask his question. 

"What are you working on here dad? It looks like you're burying yourself under paper for something big, what is it?"