Open Fields of Grace

Bastien grinned wide when Kalt decided to play along and tell him stories. This had been what he had loved in Venice, the chance to talk to so many different people and learn their tales, take them and turn them into art in mental alchemy. He gave appropriately shocked and impressed reactions to each part of Kalt's past, his hands animated and excited. "Silver Wing..? Ooh. How poetic." He commented, thinking the name great, not unlike the names of the performers he would work with on the streets. He didn't have that many scars himself, but Bastien understood that dreams were often not as glamorous as stories could make them. For all of his carefully curated image of being a man of high culture and artistic thinking, he had spent many years cleaning dishes and sweeping floors for extra cash; hell, right now he was a bartender simply for something to do. "Afraid? Pah." Bastien waved his hands dismissively. "No one here knows me well enough to order someone to kill me. And if you were to do that, you'd do it by coming to me, surely? It would be inefficient to sit and play in a field and wait for your targets to come to you. I'm sure I'm safe. And besides..." His eyes glittered with mischief as he grinned. "I think I could take you anyway." BASTIEN This tiresome desire to shock and amaze Perhaps I’ll grow out of it one of these days