[ Bastien nods and scratches Whiskey under the chin. (So ruined, his life. Completely terrible.) ]

I'd never failed on purpose before. It's not done. It's the only reason anyone could ever trust a bard to do anything—we don't back out, we keep your secrets, all of that. We can decide not to take a contact, but once we take it, it is not up to us anymore. Like, [ with a lazily mimed bow, ] a loosed arrow.

But when I had made that choice once, it became a choice every time, and I—

[ He shakes his head. He didn't quit on the spot. He lasted another few years. But it wore him down, he's trying to communicate with a sigh alone, for every wrecked life and stabbed back to feel like something he could decide to prevent after all. ]

And now here I am, working for pennies. [ He tugs gently on By's goatee. ] Excellent benefits, though.