@melanchorose cont.
Standing around a farming village the party had wandered into in the hopes of selling off a few pocketed goods with naught to do but look like a sore thumb while he waited, Birvor found himself with the need to fiddle once shifting his weight from foot to foot lost it's novelty. Ever since Ren had decided to pick up the art of doing things incredibly slow in the hopes it would cause the hovering half-orc to kindly fuck off and explore the concept of personal space, Birvor found himself alone with his thoughts a bit longer than he preferred. Thankfully he still had the beaten up lute he'd originally mistaken for a severed arm while out foraging for bloodied projectiles, in desperate need of tuning as it was.
He'd all but strummed a few chords to the tale of tongues, adjusting as he went when one frailer string decided it did not fancy the grab of grubby, vitiligo tipped fingers and snapped to spank the back of his hand. After a grimace begot a little shake of his hand to chase the sting off, that was when he noticed the half elf nearby. Great...was there no end to the scrying eyes of the world? At her adamant insistence that she was simply doing anything other than turning up a corner of her mouth at him, Birvor huffed in easily earned resignation. With Ren off scroll shopping, there wasn't much point in getting riled up to the edge where his rage was easier accessed for a quick intervention between lost nobles and cutthroats.
"See, now I know you're havin' a go. This face look like it got the means for smirking, does it?" He wasn't going to attempt the deliberate unbalancing of lips either knowing he'd just end up pricking himself with his own tusk. The half-orc didn't press the issue since she's going on and bowing like she was finishing up with a performance of her own while he settled for tucking the fussy lute under an arm. Mild curiosity was followed by a quirked brow.
"Well you're somethin' proper. The whole introduction for free?" Conveniently forgetting all the holes he kept finding in his pockets after these quaint interactions, Birvor gave the back of his neck an awkward rub while brandishing the lute by the neck to show her the instrument with the same rough and tumble care a dog might bring back a duck. "Oh, uh- I'm nothin' of the sort. Just had too many flute lessons so the house I was part of could feel a smidge more pretentious." Yes, because even the body guards had to be well cultured or some shit. And it wasn't like distractions had to be good ones, which is primarily the best use for a mangled lute in the hands of someone who loved a dirty, bloody story.
