[ SPARKLING WATER ] - Fresh spring water that has been magically carbonated. Served with a squeeze of lime or a dash of one of the many fruit syrups available at the bartender’s disposal.
Pandreo knows better than to dance with a dancer. He'll never match their steps, and he doesn't want to. No one has taught him this lesson harder than Seadall, and in a way, he's grateful.
On the sidelines, Seadall is easier to approach. "Heya," he greets smoothly, "long time no see! You've probably been cutting a rug; are you thirsty?" Pandreo offers the glass he's holding; peach sparkling water, jingling with ice cubes.
As if sent by the Divines themselves, water appears just as Seadall’s form begins to feel real strain, when he’s considering where he might find moments of peace to rest and recover.
He knows his own body, after all, and even hours of rigorous training don’t make him immune to weariness.
“You have my thanks, I-” Seadall’s words cut mid syllable, eyes focusing on what- who stands in front of him. He knows his expression twists through a full range of surprise-shock-joy. “Pandreo!” The cool water is in his hand but it’s just as quickly forgotten. Instead, he steps into his space, throwing both arms around him by way of greeting.
The water is cold, running over his hand where it splashes from the glass. “You’ve come at the right time, it seems! Have you just arrived, I mean?” Of anyone Seadall thought would thrive in this particular setting, Pandreo was the undisputed winner.
Perhaps Fogado would give him a run for the title, but his countryman would stand front and center nonetheless. It brings a smile that he tucks into the curve of his shoulder, gone as he pulls away. What remains is simple enthusiasm. “Where are you going? I’d like to accompany you, if that’s alright. Unless you'd care to dance with me?”