[ she keeps her face downcast, eyes trained on the path their walking. she knows too well that if she accidentally makes eye contact with someone, it can feel like an invitation to approach her, ask for her to sign something, or to kiss their child, or to be bought a drink. on most days, there's a reason she goes straight back to her quarters instead of partaking in enbarr's night life. on today, of all day's, she wants to be left alone.

when sylvain ask how she's been, it's not easy to find an answer. oh, she knows what she'd tell most people - it's a thrill to be on stage, she's so lucky to still have her job after the war, her parts are delightful, and so on. but it doesn't feel right to go through her regular spiel when sylvain already knows she's more often satisfied than truly happy with where she is.

so she lets out a soft laugh, doesn't bother hiding the weariness that accompanies her answer. ] I've been busy. Sometimes I wish I were worse at singing, or acting. I'd just be more stressed about making a livelihood then, but at least I wouldn't be so in demand.

[ that makes her focus on work sound less self-inflicted, surely. it's not like she's lied - and she's not about to tell him the full truth, that she's been slaving away at her parts and at rehearsing to stop herself from thinking about that night in faerghus constantly. whatever he may want to hear, it's definitely not that. ]

You? Getting in trouble? Now, why would his Majesty think that of you? It's so uncharacteristic. [ she dares a glance up at sylvain, all innocence and bright eyes in her look. ] I thought you'd been behaving yourself now that you've got your fancy title. At least, that's what I gleaned from my visit.

[ sneaking out from a party with stolen food and drink to make out: you may not like it, dima, but this is what peak behaving looks like. ]