Ari ♫ ♪ ♬ (gracenotes) wrote in emillion, |
Her laugh this time was just as easy as when she’d been accused of being a councilor, for all that this second guess was considerably closer to the truth, in its way. “A burglar! Why yes,” she said, widening her eyes in mock earnestness, discrediting a truth by admitting it in the most ridiculous manner possible. “You’ve caught me.” A pause before she added, “I did play one, once.” Then, the expression melted off her face, to be replaced with her normal friendly smile as she said, “If we are being technical, however, the latter guess is most accurate. Do you enjoy the theatre, councilor?” “I enjoy it enough. My wife and I go sometimes, schedule permitting. Not a connoisseur, however.” The uncomfortable truth – that the Thorntons hadn’t done much for fun in the past five months at all – could go entirely unmentioned. Bram’s face was carved out of stone, a look he’d managed to perfect through sheer practice alone. But the words were amiable enough when he delivered them, haltingly polite: “Perhaps I’ll go more often now that I’ve met one of the stars.” “You should,” Ari told him. Though he was reserved, her own warmth did not abate in the least. She was rarely uncomfortable around new people. “I like to think there is something for anyone to enjoy, though our sword fights are paltry imitations, of course. We make up for it in other ways.” Still smiling, she ventured, “And I am, perhaps, keeping you from ascertaining Aspel’s safety in the face of the most nefarious of foes? I believe there are stacks of paper in there nearly as tall as you are, never mind me.” Following her suggestion, Bram’s gaze shifted towards the doorway down the hall, then flicked back to the bard. “Point,” he said, on the verge of turning away and making his farewells: “I’ll have to do just that.” But then he paused mid-step, one consideration nagging at him, the desire to learn more about his relatively new coworkers: “Actually, out of curiosity—how do you know Aspel?” “Hmm?” Ari asked, her mind already elsewhere; she turned back when he posed the question, though, and answered easily: “We’re old friends — via the theatre, in fact.” “Ah.” Bram accepted the explanation without question; it was shorter than the girl’s usual chatter, but sometimes the truth really was that simple. “Still. Nice meeting you, miss Chiaro. Might run into you again, either here or at the theatre.” His smile twitched again, and the man gave a slight bow, a stiff tilt of the back as a goodbye, before they parted ways and went in opposite directions down the hall. |