Gwydion just blinked for a moment. To say he was slightly confused was putting it mildly. Maybe it was the fact he wasn’t very well known but he was always a little disturbed when someone showed the least bit of interest in him or his activities. Of course, hadn’t this been what he’d become mortal for? The experience it brought about and one of those was dealing with nosy strangers that wanted to know what he was writing. Not that he had anything against the woman, not really. He just hadn’t been expecting someone to engage him in conversation over his coffee.
“It’s, um, nothing really,” he said, voice lilting slightly in a Welsh accent as he tried to hide his nerves. He set the pad of paper down for the other woman to see if she wanted. Four sheets were already filled with the dark curls of his cramped cursive in the ink from his fountain pen, the letters slightly slanted at an angle. He always loved the antique look of proper handwriting. Writing used to be an artform in more ways than simple stories. “Jotting a few notes down to work on, that’s all. Ideas to turn into stories later.” He hid behind the steam of his mocha as he focused his attention on it. “…Hopefully.”