After putting some distance between himself and the giggling girl - not that he knew she was giggling at the moment - Henry managed to calm himself down, and put his fiddle back into its case and store it in one of the cabinets, to pick back up later after taking Yvonne out. He didn't think he'd be playing any more music tonight, not without coming back here first. As he closed the cabinet, Henry flexed one hand a little - the one that had gotten an inadvertent handful. It had been warm, and soft, and a faint dusting of red washed across his face as the phantom sensation of that warmth spread across his palm.

Then Yvonne spoke up from nearby, and he shook his head rapidly. He thought, for a moment, that she had been about to say something else - but he threw that idea right out the door, dismissing it as the ramblings of his rather disoriented mind. He coughed, and shook his head again, focusing his bright blue eyes on the young woman as he headed towards the front door. Again his long familiarity with the layout of the house showed, as he smoothly walked around various pieces of furniture without really registering that they were there.

"You're quite right about that, Miss Yvonne. Shared interests do tend to lead to more enjoyable meetings." And I am rather glad you like music. Means I'll usually have something I can talk about without boring you. He kept that thought to himself though. No, he was definitely not willing to voice that particular one, not yet. Not after accidentally fondling her. He coughed into a closed fist before holding the front door open. Yvonne preceded him through the door, and he closed it firmly behind them - he knew Matilda would still be awake for a while so he didn't need to worry about locking it, but just leaving the door open was a terrible idea.

As the two walked down the street, he did make sure to stay somewhat close to Yvonne. The night was somewhat cool, and while she did have her scarf back on, he didn't know how used to the cold night air she was. So he was ready in case she needed - well. An arm, maybe? He frowned slightly. Well, no matter unless she actually got cold. The blacksmith wasn't far away, and once they actually made it to his shop the chill certainly wouldn't be an issue.


The night-operating blacksmith was one of the local journeymen, operating the store during late hours for those people who worked into the night, and would need things. Getting something repaired couldn't always be done during the day after all. And the journeyman who ran the shop at night, a gentleman by the name of Tyvin, well knew that he was working for those who operated on a strange schedule. He usually had a pot of coffee brewing somewhere in the shop, so he could give a cup to customers who could stomach the brew. It certainly woke you up, a potent, bitter black sludge that was, Henry swore, sometimes considering sentience through sheer caffenation. He pushed open the door to the store and held it for Yvonne, calling out inside as he did so.

"Oi, Tyvin, you busy at the moment?" His bright, clear voice rang out into the shop as he ushered his guest inside.