The man in red and white stopped his strumming just long enough to catch bits and snatches of the bar side conversation: something about handouts, choices, and taking fate into one's own hands, or the like. It was hard to hear much more than faint hints of it from his perch at the western table.
He caught himself giving a sharp nod at what he thought he heard, and resumed his plucking of the strings, still light and subdued, but playing a time-honored , slow-tempo version of a melody about a heroic monk who, being the best around, would never be kept down.
OOC:
He caught himself giving a sharp nod at what he thought he heard, and resumed his plucking of the strings, still light and subdued, but playing a time-honored , slow-tempo version of a melody about a heroic monk who, being the best around, would never be kept down.
OOC:
"But in the laugh there was another voice. A clearer laugh, an ironic laugh. A laugh which laughs because it chooses not to weep."
![[Image: 3610850.jpg]](http://assets-cloud.enjin.com/users/1266293/pics/original/3610850.jpg)
