He hadn't expected her to lean against him. She must have been more exhausted than she was letting on. Asklepios wouldn't put it past her to keep going long past the point of that exhaustion. If only because that was one of the few things that was the same about both of them. She had a very odd way about her, stammered quite a bit and generally made as little sense as she could possibly make while getting by in the world. Odd that he'd seen people with some difficulty in understanding her. Yet he never seemed to have too much trouble. A misunderstanding here, there, but nothing major. Nothing too great to be overcome by the fact that she was genuinely a good person.
And yet, he thought to himself in annoyance, he couldn't understand Philotes at all - even if she was the one who spoke plainly.
That made sense.
"What is tennis?" Asklepios asked whimsically, leaning back himself. "Nonsense, mostly. That and horribly odd clothing."
It was bad for the joints, bad for ligaments and tendons, that sport. Clay and other hard services had very little give compared to grass, which - while not kind on those who ran for extended periods of time upon it - was at least the surface upon which human beings had been running for thousands of years. And that wasn't even the worst part. Asklepios failed to see how skill could have anything at all to do with which player could hit an unpredictable rubber ball in the proper direction more times than the other person.