His great war story, ha! That thought would definitely have had Sascha slapping his leg in hilarity, if his leg weren't the problem to begin with. In all honesty, he'd rather just forget the whole day had ever happened. Killing that creature in such a brutal fashion, even in self-defense, had brought him no joy; all he'd gotten out of the experience was a slightly bum leg and a strange, newly discovered urge to hurl whenever he saw turkey flesh. Oh well, no great loss there.

"Mm, harpies," was his simple reply, followed closely with, "Caught me by surprise and tried to kill my dog." He gripped the top portion of his cane and slowly pulled it apart from the lower half, the sharp metal of the concealed blade within rasping audibly against the sheath as it was withdrawn. "But that shouldn't happen again, hopefully. Sweeney, say hello to Miss Dione." The mutt stretched languidly and rose to her feet as Sascha slid the blade back into place. She moved to sniff tentatively at Dione's lap but Sascha shooed her away, so she settled for resting her jaw on the woman's thigh and looking up at her, tail wagging, as she waited for the inevitable attention.

Sascha watched Dione's hands move easily across the keys for a few moments before backtracking a bit in the conversation. "I remember you mentioning that you'd played with the Atlanta Symphony, isn't that right? I was hoping you wouldn't mind having a little jam session with me, or at least letting me hear you play." He shifted the guitar on his lap and and looked just over his shoulder at her, since they were sitting on the bench facing opposite directions. "Music always takes a load off my mind."