<----- sucks forever[/html]
There had been no jaunty songs for Roselle that went beyond the limits of her (mostly) safe world. She knew lullabies and poetic, sad things that had given her comfort when the world collapsed around her. These foreigners would perhaps never understand the rich complexity of her verse, but she did, and she knew that they felt what she meant if she did it right. Sometimes it was less about what was said and more about what was communicated in tone, melody, pitch.
The compliments left her beaming, though Roselle was equally careful not to seem as if her ego had somehow fed from this. While praise was well-taken, she did not desire to look like it was her only reason for such performances. She hadn’t even realized he was there a moment ago! “I am just walking,” she explained, slowing her speech down. It helped with the accent, though her voice was still thick with the Parisian influence. It was likely she would never (despite her attempts to master the language) speak properly. Had she been of higher blood or influence, this would not have been so.
“I like to walk,” she went on, and held his face with her eyes. “Are you biz-ee?” He certainly seemed like he might have been, and she did not desire to intrude upon his work.
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