[ Bastien looks in that direction, but his air is a little distracted—even with a cello in play—while he's still settling back onto the ground and into his skin in the relative quiet.
Yesterday he might have let the exhilaration sweep him forward and hauled Byerly in by the collar. Today he drifts closer more like a leaf, on his way to the edge of the stage. He catches By's arm for a moment when he's close enough. Holds it, for a passing moment, and rocks sideways to knock his cheek to his shoulder. He's done it before, now and then–the impulse behind a hug, satisfied without any arm-winding or body-pressing.
Then he steps further away to lean over the pit, not quite committed to the idea of jumping down into it, yet, and having to climb back out, but certainly considering it. ]
Do you come here a lot? The man at the door likes you.
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Yesterday he might have let the exhilaration sweep him forward and hauled Byerly in by the collar. Today he drifts closer more like a leaf, on his way to the edge of the stage. He catches By's arm for a moment when he's close enough. Holds it, for a passing moment, and rocks sideways to knock his cheek to his shoulder. He's done it before, now and then–the impulse behind a hug, satisfied without any arm-winding or body-pressing.
Then he steps further away to lean over the pit, not quite committed to the idea of jumping down into it, yet, and having to climb back out, but certainly considering it. ]
Do you come here a lot? The man at the door likes you.