From what I've learned, there's a lot of ways to make money and music definitely isn't the quickest or easiest or most reliable, [ Guess who took the eyes of a former composer? This eldritch god. ] so I'd guess there's usually more to it.
But it's probably somewhere between you and I, the ways we think about it.
Astarion appears at the door a few moments later. The room behind him has good bones - gilded wallpaper, fine hardwood flooring - but the beds are narrow and grubby, and there's no other soft furnishings to speak of. And no windows.
"There you are, darling. I didn't ask - how was the chaos for you?"
"Ah. Yes. I did the same, briefly. Not as much fun as I'd have liked," he says absently, as he's reaching into the bag for the sheathed blade. He can already feel the magic in it is still present, the suppressive edge to the blade still sharp. "Thank you again, John."
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In my experience, I'd guess that what most people feel when they play is 'I need to pay my rent and I'll get a few coins for this'.
But, I appreciate that it's not the only thing they feel. Or that everyone is so...mercenary.
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But it's probably somewhere between you and I, the ways we think about it.
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Probably.
Regardless. If you'd like to play this composition of yours, then I would like to hear it.
[He has absolutely no strong feelings either way, but he's already learned that 'I don't care' just prolongs the subject.]
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Thank you. In a couple of days, perhaps? After the dust has settled.
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[ A pause. ]
Also, apparently a guy named the Butcher showed up just after everything stopped being crazy.
He's got a weird fixation on Arthur so... just giving you a head's up. He doesn't even know about me yet but I'm sure he'll find out soon enough.
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'The Butcher'? No points for originality.
Pleasant accent, rather dead eyes?
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...agreed on Mr. Boring, though.
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Not even as evocative as he'd like. By the time an animal gets to a butcher it's already dead.
Anyway, I've met him. He likes music too, as it happens.
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[ Never think your warden can't be petty.]
I'll keep that in mind. Thanks.
...oh, I do have your dagger, though.
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So soon?
I - thank you.
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You can drop it off. I have the first cabin on the top level.
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That's fine. I'll see you shortly.
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Spam
Astarion appears at the door a few moments later. The room behind him has good bones - gilded wallpaper, fine hardwood flooring - but the beds are narrow and grubby, and there's no other soft furnishings to speak of. And no windows.
"There you are, darling. I didn't ask - how was the chaos for you?"
Re: Spam
He didn't love it, no. But he'll hold out the bag for Astarion, letting go of one handle so it gaped open for him to see.
"Here you go. Let me know if you need anything else?"
Re: Spam
"Ah. Yes. I did the same, briefly. Not as much fun as I'd have liked," he says absently, as he's reaching into the bag for the sheathed blade. He can already feel the magic in it is still present, the suppressive edge to the blade still sharp. "Thank you again, John."
Re: Spam
He catches the other handle once Astarion's hand is out, closing the top.
"And I'll see you at the art gazebo. When you're feeling it."