Funny Joke

Castor ArendtMateus seems idle enough as he follows the long steps descending from the pillars, but on an odd tilt of the head he notices Luca, nestled into a nook of Foundation. "Ho there, miss Townsend. Brisk evening, mm?"
Lucaell Townsend: "That's Lady Townsend to you," she looks down on him, as deadpan as ever, lowering her lyre. Dangerously bending over crates to speak, she humors him, however: "Not so brisk when your skirt is lined with fire crystals."
Lucaell Townsend: "Try it out."
Lucaell Townsend: "What do you want?"
Castor ArendtMateus: "Madame Sompt recommended the same. Feels a little overkill, if I'm being honest." He sniffs. "Well, lady, I suppose I'd like to make a bit of conversation. We are colleagues, after all. After a fashion." He sounds less sure of this than his expression of ease implies. "Is that so strange?"
Lucaell Townsend: "You're mistaken, little guy." She leans back, shifting in her seat. "You're under the Good Father's employ. Am not. You're a smart guy. Me steering clear of the rest of you lot should be a considerable hint."
Lucaell Townsend: "I'm with the Red Baron." She rests her chin in a lazy gloved palm, now cross-legged.
Castor ArendtMateus: "Your captain is on some kind of retainer. Intricacies of command aside, we're marching about the same catwalks and nominally at least concerned with the same problems." He cracks his neck. "But I'm not really interested in getting into it. I have a question."
Castor ArendtMateus: "Do you believe in ghosts?"
Lucaell Townsend lids her eye and studies Castor for a little bit, almost as if her disinterest faltered. Though perhaps it was just a trick of the light. "I do. Why. Are you haunted?"
Lucaell Townsend: "Want me to sing to it?" She plucks a few chords.
Castor ArendtMateus: "It's, I concede, a bit of a silly question - ghosts verifiably exist, albeit most commonly in the form of floating globules of umbral aether that hasn't quite crept back into the great beyond." He sniffs, and moves breezily past her question for now. "I am less certain of the existence of phantasms which claim some relation to the once-living, floating through the halls of decrepit manors and cooign softly their own distress."
Castor ArendtMateus: "I am particularly less convinced that one such spirit is haunting the external decks of our ship, strumming a lute, since as far as I can tell the voyage is state of the art and, despite madame de Arbell's worst fears, relatively unhaunted."
Lucaell Townsend stares. For a while. She puts a finger in her ear in a loose attempt to clean it. "You know you could use half the words you do use to speak of those things, right? I have no idea what it is you're talking about."
Castor ArendtMateus smiles pleasantly. "I could. But I happen to like the sound of my own voice." He clears his throat. "So, is what I'm hearing on patrol you, or a ghost?"
Castor ArendtMateus: "Because if it's the latter, I have some alterations to make to my patrol route, and if it's the former, I have to ask why."
Lucaell Townsend scoffs at him. "You'd ask me why I play? Are you stupid?" The admission comes easily. She doesn't like playing games. At least not ones that aren't ran on her own terms.
Castor ArendtMateus: "Perhaps just a little, when it comes to the arts. I'm a technical sort of person. Indulge me."
Lucaell Townsend: "Ah, because the arts are not technical. Yes."
Lucaell Townsend: "I play because I want. Isn't that a boon? Don't you shoot things because you want, too?"
Lucaell Townsend designates his weapon with a nod.
Castor ArendtMateus: "I concede the point. But I shoot things in particular places at particular times, for money." He shifts his weight, bringing both hands to rest on his hips. "You have no such pragmatic reason for playing only when the ship ghosts can hear you."
Lucaell Townsend: "Nobody walks the planks at night, and the ship's safeguarded. It's the best stage I can afford for practice."
Lucaell Townsend: "You should shoot from the airship, to be frank. Yell 'it's Ul'dahn soil!' as Temple Knights wonder who rung their canned heads."
Castor ArendtMateus: "Practice?" Castor seems taken aback. "... Ah. I suppose that makes sense. You sound lovely, though."
Castor ArendtMateus cackles. "Oh, if only."
Lucaell Townsend: "Did you come here to flirt? Is this where we are headed?"
Castor ArendtMateus: "I intend to keep this job, though."
Castor ArendtMateus: "No. I'm curious. That doesn't mean I'm flirting."

Castor ArendtMateus: "If I were flirting, that wouldn't have been the only compliment I've played you thus far."
Castor ArendtMateus: "Paid." He frowns. "Music on the brain."
Lucaell Townsend: "Men like to mention 'mere curiosity'. Makes rejection more palatable. Just curious! Just browsing! I wasn't engaging! Watch me! I'm an idiot." She gestures with a free hand, mimicking a. A man.
Lucaell Townsend: "You want me to play something?"
Castor ArendtMateus: "I have the sense that I wasn't directly supposed to hear what I heard before, because your performances weren't really meant for anyone. So yes, I think. I'd like to hear something intentional."
Castor ArendtMateus: "I may even pay you."
Lucaell Townsend brings a hand to her chest, blinking a few times. The same hand flies to her lips, in an overdone play of delicateness - she's so precious. "Pay? Me? Oh, Agent Arendt! You, a patron of the arts. A man so generous!"
Lucaell Townsend: "The prospect is so exciting," she reverts to her deadpan self, "It's make my nauseous."
Lucaell Townsend: (making*)
Lucaell Townsend: "I don't want your coin. What kind of song do you want to hear?"
Castor ArendtMateus cocks his head to one side, still smiling faintly. He seems to approve of the show, even at his own expense. "I /am/ generous. You always play sad songs, so far as I've heard, my lady Townsend."
Castor ArendtMateus: "Why don't you play something that will brighten my mood?"
Lucaell Townsend: "My range is awfully limited, you'll find." She cants her head to the side. Reaching behind herself, she pulls out a small, worn thing. A journal. Papers stick from it all over. It looks like it's been through hell. She looks through it.
Lucaell Townsend: "Especially for amateurs."
Lucaell Townsend: "I can't help it. They keep hearing sad songs."
Castor ArendtMateus: "Not what a patron wants to hear," he observes, without malice. "You could use a lesson in self-representation."
Castor ArendtMateus: "You have a flair for presentation, of course, drumrolls and fanfare, but where is the Lucaell Townsend in the performance?"
Lucaell Townsend closes her journal.
Lucaell Townsend: "Are you here to hear a song, or torment me?" She seems to ask in earnest, with mild confusion.
Lucaell Townsend: "You sound like a nightmare I had. People keep trying to explain me my profession. Without paying me to listen to them."
Castor ArendtMateus looks equally as confused. "Hear a song."
Lucaell Townsend: "Then shut it. Will you?"
Lucaell Townsend returns to her browsing, and stops on a page at the beginning. She blinks a few times. "Here's an old one."
Lucaell Townsend puts the journal next to her, tuning the instrument.
Castor ArendtMateus waits, for all of his earlier bluster, patiently as a spider in its web. His smile is genuine, his hear tilted faintly to one side to brandish his ear at her - obnoxious.
Castor ArendtMateus: head* ))
Lucaell Townsend: "I wrote this one some four turns ago or so. Five? I fell for a mortician."
Lucaell Townsend tries a merry melody.
Lucaell Townsend sings.
Castor ArendtMateus looks like he wants to make a snide comment, but restrains himself.
Castor ArendtMateus lets out a clipped, surprised laugh.
Lucaell Townsend finishes the song.
Lucaell Townsend: "... I think he had issues with the Ossuary when this song got popular," in confidence.
Castor ArendtMateus applauds politely, though not excessively. "Oh, I was terribly worried for a moment that I knew where that was going." He smiles up at Lucaell, and breathes out a deep breath turned to mist by the cold. "Well done."
Castor ArendtMateus: "I like a good tavern bawdy. Wasn't sure if you had it in you, if I'm being honest."
Lucaell Townsend: "Do you have friends? I'm asking this in earnest."
Castor ArendtMateus: "Oh, yes, plenty. Do you?" Even toned.
Lucaell Townsend: "It's not good to lie, Agent Arendt," she attaches the lyre at her hip as she straightens her back, and puts the journal where it belongs, in a discrete pouch at her belt.
Lucaell Townsend: "You're unpleasant! But at least you're harmless."

Castor ArendtMateus: "Your implication is that you find me so unpleasant, you assume that I simply can't have any friends. That hurts."
Lucaell Townsend hops down, agile. "Oops! I was explicit."
Castor ArendtMateus: "I don't find you so unpleasant. As I've told you many times before, though, my name is Castor."
Lucaell Townsend: "You are unpleasant. You're unpleasant. You are, unpleasant." She's so caught up in saying it, "Ah? Huh, yeah. Castor."
Castor ArendtMateus: "I don't suppose it would be productive to ask just what makes someone pleasant in your estimation."
Castor ArendtMateus: "Instead, I'll ask why you keep such distance from /everyone/."
Castor ArendtMateus: "Are they all so unpleasant?"
Lucaell Townsend: "No, they are not. As a matter of fact, I like quite a few of them. I'm simply not looking to get attached. But I can talk to you, if you like! Since you're different."
Castor ArendtMateus: "Is that so? Well, I'm glad we're in no danger of attachment. Who do you like?"
Castor ArendtMateus: "Pick a favorite. Or a few. I'm not looking for a comprehensive list."
Lucaell Townsend: "You're so curt. It's so strange. It feels as though you're highly worried as to how others perceive you--but it doesn't look like you're purposefully being unpleasant."
Lucaell Townsend: "It makes me really sad, Cassie."
Lucaell Townsend glosses over his question.
Castor ArendtMateus scoffs. "Castor, I beg of you. What would it look like if I were being purposefully unpleasant?"
Lucaell Townsend: "I think you'd just load that gun and shoot me."
Lucaell Townsend: "You want to try?"
Castor ArendtMateus: "I don't know what the point of that would be. My hobby is marksmanship, and I've observed nothing about you that suggests you would be particularly difficult to hit."
Lucaell Townsend: "You asked 'what would it look like if I were being purposefully unpleasant'. I say, I think you'd just load that gun and shoot me."
Castor ArendtMateus: "And then you asked me if I'd want to try, to which I said no."
Lucaell Townsend: "Oh, yeah, I did that," she taps her lips, distracted.
Castor ArendtMateus cocks an eyebrow. "You seem often elsewhere, miss Townsend."
Lucaell Townsend: "Lady Townsend," she corrects. "So what if I am?"
Lucaell Townsend: "Ah, don't tell me you're worried?"
Lucaell Townsend: "I'm inconsequential."
Castor ArendtMateus: "If you are to blithely call me what you will, I shall do the same." Castor shakes his head. "No, not worried. At least not beyond an official capcity."
Castor ArendtMateus: "It's just remarkable, is all. We have no shortage of those who are a little... of another realm, in terms of their thinking, on this ship. But you seem clumsy. Addled."
Castor ArendtMateus: "What is the cause, I wonder?"
Lucaell Townsend: "You sound like a very limited man. No offense." She doesn't seem really impacted by whatever he's saying, then again, she doesn't seem impacted by anything. Ever.
Lucaell Townsend: "I was born with a defect. It makes so I'm not allowed to be smart."
Castor ArendtMateus: "I prefer focused. Of a singular, precise, lens. But limited is true, as well."
Lucaell Townsend: "Yeah. Limited."
Castor ArendtMateus: "That's not a very funny joke, if it is one."
Lucaell Townsend: "You're not a very funny man. I thought we should match up."
Castor ArendtMateus: "I'm not trying to be funny. I don't think I've told a single joke this entire time."
Lucaell Townsend: "You don't need to. Your physical presence is a joke in itself."
Lucaell Townsend: "You're going to describe me all evening?
Lucaell Townsend: "I can do it too!"
Castor ArendtMateus guffaws. "Oh, good one."
Castor ArendtMateus: "If you want to talk about me, you can."
Castor ArendtMateus: "Let's talk about me."
Lucaell Townsend: "All right."
Lucaell Townsend falls silent.

Lucaell Townsend looks into his eyes, unblinking.
Castor ArendtMateus draws his lower lip between his teeth. "Is this where your scathing point comes out that there's nothing worth talking about?"
Castor ArendtMateus: "Mere moments ago, you seemed so glib. Delightfully contrarian."
Lucaell Townsend remains perfectly silent. There's some light movement in her mouth and lips, as though she was trying not to laugh.
Castor ArendtMateus lifts a hand from his hip and extends it until he can snap his fingers next to her ear. "High ho, there."
Lucaell Townsend stays still.
Castor ArendtMateus: "Mm. Bested in every category. I suppose I shall head home, then, tail tucked between my legs, resolute in the knowledge of my own failure."
Lucaell Townsend: "Good night!" With invisible enthusiasm. The inflexion in the tone is there, but the face's expression doesn't follow.
Castor ArendtMateus: "I do find you a funny little thing, miss Townsend, even if you insist on leaping to the extremes of childish behavior simply because I align with your nightmares." His tone is, as ever, arrogant and utterly absent any irony.
Castor ArendtMateus: "I do hope you get that figured out, though. Sounds like a terrible dream to be having." He gives a little wave and moves to make tracks.
Lucaell Townsend looks around the both of them for a moment.
Lucaell Townsend: "Wait."
Castor ArendtMateus: "Yes, my lady?"
Castor ArendtMateus turns on a dime.
Lucaell Townsend seems a touch more serious for a moment, staring off in the distance. She then joins him, resolution in her step.
Lucaell Townsend beckons to him that she may whisper.
Castor ArendtMateus: "... Hm?" He makes no move to proceed.
Lucaell Townsend pauses, as Castor finds her with the hand on his pouch.
Lucaell Townsend: "Aw."
Lucaell Townsend moves it, showing both hands, clear.
Castor ArendtMateus 's eyes flick downwards, then back to Lucaell. "Have you ever /been/ to Ul'dah?"
Lucaell Townsend: "I don't know what an Ul'dah is."
Castor ArendtMateus: "You could use a few pointers. From the six-turn-olds."
Lucaell Townsend: "We get it. You're a native."
Castor ArendtMateus: "Yes."
Lucaell Townsend: "It's not my fault you look like an Ilsabardian. Pasty as you are."
Lucaell Townsend: "Later, Caster."
Lucaell Townsend waves off, leaving.
Castor ArendtMateus 's face immediately falls into something between a scowl and a grimace. He doesn't move as she walks away.