It's, uh, Tal - *Talfryn*, y'Lordship.

[another grin, this one slightly more self-conscious; he knows he's painfully obviously both lowborn and Dravanian even without the surname, while Francel is, well, Francel]

Don't need to ask yours, of course. Can I ask what we're heftin' here?

Right where I was headed anyhow.

[he grins, falling into step beside the young lord]

[he grins]

True, he ain't exactly made a habit of shyin' away from overdue revolution.

Aye, they do. Bleedin' marvellous if you ask me.

... do you reckon it's more likely some bright spark hypo-thetically importin' a bunch would make a fortune floggin' them in the Crozier or get themselves Witchdropped for questionin' Ishgardian tradition?

Please tell me again how the cityfolk are the civilised ones here because this? This ain't it 😆

Every time I see the words 'family salt rock' I thank the Fury that Eiri's ma is too sensible for any of that 'boshite.

NOTEWORTHY STUFF
✮ Left arm at (almost) all times in a mechanical brace, some goblinoid influence evident in its construction
✮ Prominent facial scarring as per model
✮ Short for an elezen (6'4 / height 0), holds himself like he's taller
✮ Accent very obviously Dravanian, specifically Tailfeather

It's no bother; here, let me.

[he is, in fact, a great deal shorter than Francel, so likely seems just as ridiculous behind the packages, but gamely takes the majority regardless]

Where're we headed?

[He probably shouldn't be bothering the highborn, but spending as much time as he has with the likes of Lumeria and Eirian has made him bold, it seems]

Y'alright, y'lordship? Need an 'and with any of that?

watching Eirian, reassuring himself he's there and real and still okay, before curling back against him.

"Oh aye; let anyone play, will they? Maybe I can convince Eiri to grace us with a performance."

(Given how nice Lumi had been thus far, it was entirely too easy to forget that he'd been trying to be discrete about the identity of his 'friend'. Oops).

and while Eirian obviously numbered amongst the Good Ones, there were entirely too many here in the city who heard the Dravanian in his accent and looked at him like something they'd stepped in while mucking out their stables.

At the mention of music his ears almost visibly pricked up. (+)

"Seems like for every one who's halfway decent, there's three complete gits" he nodded, his tone sympathetic; granted, dealing with the sort of swaggering second- and third sons the Conservatory attracted - and doing so as an unapologetic bastard, to boot - might have coloured his view a little (+)

He shrugs. "Might swing by the Knight, get myself some of their warmwine... 'less there's somewhere else you'd recommend?"