Whatever Fenn had been expecting, an enthusiastic performance from a sad jester had not been it.

His mouth dropped in awe as colorful handkerchiefs streamed from Lark’s sleeves, spilling forth like a silken waterfall to crash to the ground below. Magic! And not the literally-real-magic kind of magic one saw so often in Althanas, but the lovely sort legerdemain he enjoyed. It was very much like what Fenn did, only with stage props rather than wallets.

The Fae grinned widely and gave an enthusiastic applause in return for the joyous display.
And yet...

As one who had a little practice in being deceptive, he knew that something was a little off about the grinning jester. How sudden the turn of mood was struck him as uncanny; his lips smiled, but his eyes sobbed. He eyed the lady curiously, wondering if she had felt the off-ness too. Or was that just him being paranoid again?

Either way, he hadn't come here merely to exchange pleasantries. Fenn glanced down at the frost-bitten flute in his hands and held it up for the jester to see again. His glassy green eyes were wide with expectation and inquiry.