Orpheus has passed this man in the archives a few times before. He's generally been friendly, in his way, waving or nodding in greeting those times their eyes have met, but usually he's been too busy scurrying around looking for bits and pieces of knowledge for his own projects to stop and properly introduce himself.

Today, though, he overhears the man lament how long his efforts are taking, and slows to a stop, setting the pile of books on beasthood in his arms down on the table.

"Oh?" he says, frowning, cocking his head to the side slightly. "The basics of what? Maybe I can help?"

He sort of doubts it - Orpheus is aware that he's no scholar, struggles with understanding the breadth and depth of a lot of what's going on at the best of times - but if there's a chance he might be of use he has to offer, right?

(Unrelated to any of this, scars of varying age stand out against pale skin underneath his clothes, covering his back and sides and encircling the joints of his legs and neck and one of his arms. He limps slightly, a fresh and still-bandaged burn covering one of his legs from toes to knee. But he's not thinking of any of that, right now. Why would he be?)