Redwald/Altair/OPEN: During a break in the game.
"I don't know why you do that to your voice," Altair murmured from where he stood, a few feet away from Red. He swirled the straw around in his nearly empty tonic. "Ofelia, she's not an Orator anymore, so I suppose it doesn't matter whether or not she smokes—and between you and me, she wasn't much of one to begin with." He tilted his head back and drank the last of the tonic, letting one of the smaller ice cubes fall into his mouth. As he lowered his glass, he crunched the ice thoughtfully.
"I suppose some people find that gruff, gravelly quality compelling, though," he allowed after a moment. "It reminds them that they're hearing from someone closer to the grave than they. The rattling of emphysemic lungs does lend a certain authority. And, let's be honest," he added, smirking sidelong at the other man, "no one ever mistook you for a singer,"