"I prefer plucking strings to using a bow, normally," Balthazar seems to be politely sizing up the stranger. It's rare for anyone to call him 'lad'. Not that he minds. "I still play the lyra and the psaltery. There's little music I dislike, but the older forms and simple songs suit me best."
He leans back, hands in his pockets, and smiles wryly. "Words are so easy to lose track of, though. And a stray one can be such trouble to get reined back in."
"I've been considering that." Balthazar's experience with the fair folk has been limited, and usually stressful. Still, he's seen enough to recognize the type of power. He's just never encountered it on this level before.
"Your pardon," he nods politely. "I didn't mean to stare. I'm used to being the oldest person in the room."
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He leans back, hands in his pockets, and smiles wryly. "Words are so easy to lose track of, though. And a stray one can be such trouble to get reined back in."
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He's obviously magic--a fae by any other name--and merely lets the sorcerer look his fill. "I can stand if that would make your observation easier."
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"Your pardon," he nods politely. "I didn't mean to stare. I'm used to being the oldest person in the room."