You're here to work and make companions, not romance every warm object you see. You're inspired to do some stretches yourself as the company assembles.
A dark-skinned man with long, beaded mustachios shuffles in next, closer to the ages of Joan and Gilbert than the rest of the young company. You follow him with your eyes, never having seen someone from the Fein Empire in person before. He carries a satchel of scarves and trinkets and mutters to himself as he takes inventory. Millicent the orator tells him something you cannot make out as they cross paths and his dour face lights up. He waggles his fingers and mutters back and she bursts into laughter, shaking her head.
Musicians…an orator…tumblers…a dancer…and an illusionist, you think, scanning the room.
Good thing I'm to be a Lurker, in a way. I scarcely know where I'd fit in otherwise.
Onward