AT LEAST WHEN SPRING COMES THEY ROAR BACK AGAIN
Oliver hears the ring of hooves down the hallway; momentarily he is split between walking hurriedly away, or standing firm where he is, admiring a well-crafted tapestry. Eventually he decides on standing firm, and believes it’s a good choice until the steps halt near him and a voice asks, You’re one of the musicians, aren’t you?
The young man already knows what’s coming, and nearly sighs audibly. You’re not supposed to be this deep in the citadel! What are you doing, wandering around? Get back to the theatre—
Instead, he hears, The violinist? You play beautifully.
Oliver turns, then, to glance at the speaker.
He is taken aback when it becomes apparent he is standing face-to-face with Dawn’s Sovereign. He might have responded differently, if the question had not been so casual and tense, as if the Sovereign is simply making conversation because it’s the polite thing to do.
Oliver smiles. “Is that what I played tonight? Jeez, I can hardly keep track of these things.” He shakes his head, as if aghast with himself. “Thank you, though, I appreciate it. It’s very high praise. My parents have been heckling me since I was a foal, though, to have some kind of useful talent. Like yours!”
His demeanour, surprisingly enough, is no stiffer for being questioned by the Sovereign himself. From the man’s wearied posture, Oliver wonders if the biggest favour he can perform is by simply being… casual.
“It’s awful beautiful, in your citadel. I bet it can get a little lonely, though.” And still, with those boyish bright eyes, and that kindhearted, genuine smile.
@Ipomoea || "Speech" || This is very overdue <3
