"So keen you were to put yourself forward during our performance, I can tell you're keen to put on a display for Ruffino's appraisers, no?"
You allow that it is so.
"I heard the way you defended noble privilege," Gwendell says in a low voice, threaded with disdain. "All I will say is that artistry in Brenton today is like as to a teeter-totter. Embed yourself in court, and the chance to make art with meaning, with kindred spirits in the Bardbrood, rises out of your reach."
"And spend my days impersonating noble officers and fomenting discontent in the masses instead?"
Gwendell gives you a grin. "You may not win any ribbons from His Grace," she admits, "but I'll be in the first row, cheering you on."
The curly-haired rascal calls over her shoulder as she trots after the others. "Until we meet again, Bandochel!"
You wave, keeping your thoughts to yourself: