Rictor/Ari | Theatre District | 11:00am
“Nah, not really. Most of what I’ve got are drinking songs, which are meant to be roared in a fucking crowd, not played by a trained bard.” He cracked a grin. “Sorry. You’re marvelous anyway.” With anyone else, there might have been an edge of instinctive flirtation here, a wink and a nudge to flattery – but there was the matter of timing, and certain other complications. So Rictor gave nothing but the type of affable warmth that most friends might receive, seated side-by-side by a fountain.
Casting another look at the way she handled the instrument with care, he pondered. Is it ‘cos of Aspel, the knight almost asked – but it would be awkward and instil a twist to the conversation that he wasn’t willing to broach anymore. Besides, he’d made a decision a month back to stop prying into that particular matter.
“So do you, uh. Do this often?” He gestured to the public square, the people streaming past on their morning or lunchtime errands. “Thought you were an opera singer.”