Anira swirled what remained in her cup, watching the Black Thorn make slow circles, much as his words seemed to. All the reasons he might think she found him dull were exactly the reasons she did.

What do you say to a proposal that we venture outward?

She wondered if he knew the hour, no decent person was abroad now, and all the honorable establishments had shut their doors hours ago. Anira’s head tilted, her eyes sweeping toward the door. “At this hour?” she asked, one brow climbing slow. “Every decent soul is abed, my Lord, and every reputable door bolted tight. The only establishments still prying coin from customers’ hands are winesinks and brothels.”

A treat, he said. She doubted that, unless he literally meant something to eat.

“My Lord, the night’s not really made for fellows like you...” A hint of teasing in her voice but with an edge of genuine doubt. He had said it himself; no fun at parties. She tipped back the last of her mug with a graceful sip, then set it down firmly on the table. "But I’ll escort you to someone who can get you home before you stumble into a mess. Not that I’m convinced you can't handle yourself, but we don't want you to have another episode of... what-ever-that-was-before while getting muggled by a runt pack."

Rising smoothly, she stretched her arms and gave him a sideways glance. “Come on, then." Anira reached down and plucked her lute up, slung the strap over her shoulder.
 
Oddly enough, a literal treat to anything but the improper was all he'd meant. Truly keeping his coinpurse more wide open than his private wants. Tiptoeing because, while word-weaving and double-speak bypassed him, sometimes - he was not daft. He knew exactly where he was, and that he did not belong here.

And so, he smiled ruefully to the comment.
"My dear, wouldn't you know best that the night has many aspects. I do just fine for myself." Besides, nobody was stealing Geist without losing a hand or raising quite a lot of noise. "You speak like you'd be able to fight off a runt pack to protect my honor." A quiet laugh, doubt. Coins left on the table. "I failed to amuse you. You have my apologies." Another few, higher value, landing closer to where she was. "For the performance."

A nod of the head, he stood, gloved hand close to the edge of the table just in case. The alcohol helped smooth the edges. The un-fraying helped get what was failing - to work again.
He was no longer bleeding out at the ritual table. Again. Again.
Several quick blinks, a resolute sharp inhale through the nose.
He just had to make it back outside.

[Exit Walter]
 
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