[ Previously busy looking down at his hips on the stage, hands flattening his clothes over them in consideration of their width, Bastien looks up–or looks slightly less down, anyway, at Byerly in the pit below—at the first sound of the drum.
He's never been much for shouting. Playing a role, it's fine; he can be Alardus Bombelles, who shouts when his soup is not the correct temperature, or Guillot the Ferrier, who was once kicked in the head and now shouts every word. For his own sake, though, he's quiet. And between that thunder-evoking booming and the eerie cavern of the theater, shouting seems like it could invite something to come closer, unheard and unseen in the noisy dark.
But it's the sort of nervousness that's just to the left of thrilled. And he trusts Byerly, both in general and specifically not to make a fool of him intentionally, or to only tease him as much as he deserves, no more or less, if he makes one of himself.
So he thinks for a moment, and then he nods, braced and taking a preparatory deep breath. ]
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He's never been much for shouting. Playing a role, it's fine; he can be Alardus Bombelles, who shouts when his soup is not the correct temperature, or Guillot the Ferrier, who was once kicked in the head and now shouts every word. For his own sake, though, he's quiet. And between that thunder-evoking booming and the eerie cavern of the theater, shouting seems like it could invite something to come closer, unheard and unseen in the noisy dark.
But it's the sort of nervousness that's just to the left of thrilled. And he trusts Byerly, both in general and specifically not to make a fool of him intentionally, or to only tease him as much as he deserves, no more or less, if he makes one of himself.
So he thinks for a moment, and then he nods, braced and taking a preparatory deep breath. ]