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She had been seen. She could tell. The big eyes, slack jaw and red ears gave it away. She would have to tell the poor little thing she couldn't help it. She was Maltheniel, the Golden Girl. She was a minstrel. She was supposed to draw the eye.
But it was sadly too easy to draw someone's eye too much.
She was unknown here. She absolutely couldn't get away with imitating the hip swaying walk of the human city women who greeted the sailors newly returned from the sea. As they didn't know her, someone might take the invitation seriously. Neither could she imitate the aloof dignity of her elders, putting on her armor of detachment that would protect him from improper thoughts at the cost of distancing herself from everyone in the room. She would like to stay. She would like to sing. She would have to…
Well, that was rude. Goldie knew she was kind of scary to some sorts, more frightful than an orc perhaps, in her own way, but turning his back on her?
She laughed, spontaneously, in b flat major, not at him, but at herself. Let no one take themselves seriously, least of all, herself.
Walking up behind the halfling, Goldie met the eyes of the human woman sitting opposite. "My pardon. I am, alas, myself. Goldie. Goldie Seasong. Is this one often like this?"
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