Myr's been approached often enough by curious gawkers during the course of this whole project that he really ought to be keeping an ear out by now for them--but it's too easy to get lost reviewing everything he's got to keep straight in his head to place the glyphs as he wants them. So many tones assigned for one area of the Gallows, so much distance paced out between the glyphs on the longest stretches of wall, with the chimes so many seconds apart and the radius of the magic they radiate set so wide; it's only with three years of practice at this sort of mental note-taking that he's gotten as good at it as he has, and it's still not perfected to the point he can do it without effort.

So it is he nearly jumps out of his skin with an inarticulate noise of alarm when Diwa addresses him, smearing the glyph he's working on into an awkward splash of magic across the wall of the keep. He sucks down a breath to calm his racing heart, slaps his hand against the stone, and swipes it over the errant glyph to erase it, all while his mind works to recover from that alarmed stumble and the surge of irritation it brought with it. "--Just for finding my way," he responds at length, when he's sure of his voice, "and decoration, if you like the looks of them."

He considers a moment trying to rewrite the glyph he botched--the thwarted magic's an unpleasant prickling sting across his skin; or is that the nearness of an anchor shard?--and decides against it while he's got company apt to distract him. "I could have them do more, but every additional function I put in is more invested power, which means more mischief if someone disrupts one."

Schooling his expression into something more pleasant--he can scowl his annoyance at the wall, but he's got to do better with a person--he turns to face in Diwa's direction. "Besides, while I can think of a dozen other things to do with them, it'd be impolite to do half and impractical for the other six.

"And I don't think we've spoken before. What's your name?"