Music and Spirituality [Finn]

[Talisman]

25 Frost, Year 124

[Closed - Finn]

Life was coming back to Ecith since the eclipse. They may have had a harder time of it in many ways than Solunarium had, but Ecithians were a resilient lot, and they viewed struggle as a challenge. In the time that Finn had been there, he’d come across all kinds, and while he was treated well, some did view him with suspicion. His affable, easygoing, curious, and open nature served him well: Few were those that liked the idea of Avaerys and Varvara’s people butting in here. If anything, the arrival of the Solunarian delegations regarding the negotiations for the possible annexation had only brought the divine Triumvirate back into more public activity.

That wasn’t to say that they had withdrawn entirely back when the present leaders had been appointed; they had chosen to step back and allow others to take over the day-to-day. There had even been whispers of Ioniri working with the representatives of Ecith’s golden dragonflight to find ways to finish off the remaining sicknesses that were still sticking around. Rules had been laid for the priest that had accompanied him - Mesmer was not acceptable for proselytizing, and if it happened, they would push for their removal.

A note had arrived for Finn from Chuck Windwhistler, inviting him to join him at Syren’s temple. It was recommended, too, that he brought his lute. Whether he did, and face the demigoddess over Her instrument, or elected not to was up to him.

Syren’s temple was easy to find - anyone could have pointed him to it, but all one really had to do was follow the music. Something he had found was that there was a frequent undercurrent of music that resonated in the background of the city - and it changed constantly. Finn’s knowing ear would likely pick out that there were multiple players, multiple styles, multiple instruments, and rarely the same one twice. If he focused on it, it was much easier to hear, and if he turned his attention away, it faded to the background once more. Curious and curiouser. As magical as Solunarium was, there were strange magics afoot in this place, no doubt helped along by the number of dragons who inhabited it.

The temple was one of the three in Drathera - Galetira and Raxen had their own, similar in size, though different in style - within the mountain city. Built of stone that was intertwined with trees, moss, and all manners of flowers, there were many windows visible to let the light in. Water bubbled from twin brooks by the stairs, and waiting outside for Finn was the gargantuan Moratallen, who was talking with some younger Orkhan bards outside of the temple, listening to the group of them. It wasn't so much of an argument as it was a lively discussion about who would sing what, and Chuck had a rather large lute in his hands. It would have been massive for just about anyone else, but for him, it was exactly the right size. "Now, listen," he raised one hand, silencing the squabbling. "Harmony does not mean each of you is exactly the same. Each of you has your own voice, your own song, your own story. But harmony means listening to each other, and learning from the other, and working with the other. It's not Junii singing all the time while Eing and Wrena help with the chorus and maybe a bridge or two. A good bard, a true bard, listens. You do not have to be perfect to be in harmony... but you have to listen to each other. Remember, you have your own voice. But you have two ears. Listen twice as much, hm?" it was softened by a smile that split the thick beard.

He spotted Finn coming up, and got up from where he was sitting, picking up the instrument. "Go on with you. You've got lessons, hm?" With that, the gaggle departed, hurrying down the steps. The half-giant turned his attention to Finn. "Duke Viator, how are you? I trust the day finds you well."

[Finn]

If he was offended at being warned not to proselytize with magic, he took it in stride and assured the priest that it was not his intention to proselytize at all. He would be open about his journey from being a good but generally godless man to being claimed and crowned by a foreign god, but if anyone chose to pursue a worship of Aværys it would he would answer their questions honestly. If he was considered a paragon of men in Solunarium, well, then perhaps he might inspire people to worship as he did in order to be more like he did. But that was hardly his ulterior motive.

He did ask questions of the people he met, though; he asked for facts, but also how they felt about them. The Triumvirate is active again; does that make you happy or nervous? Ioniri Herself was attempting to heal the lingering sickness; what experience had they had with it, or personal accounts had they heard? Sifting through stories for truth was not always easy to do, but honesty was a hallowed virtue here where one of their pantheon was Truth.

Finn wanted to understand them, the better to understand how to explain the beneficence of Solunarian rule as it related to their specific lives.

The diplomatic envoy of a mere month or two had figured Galetira would be the most retiring of the Three, and so he was not surprised that Hanna had not extended an invitation to her temple yet. Achaka had finally issued an invitation to train with the Arbiters, though no mention was made of entering that temple either. Chuck inviting him to visit Syren's temple made sense, and Finn could only guess what time meant to such ancient beings, especially given the senators of this land misused chronomancy.

But that was his opinion, and he tempered it with a reminder that his ways had not been harmonious with Solunarium's ways either, not until he gave it time and grew to understand them.

He and Ramses walked through the city of Drathera, a wedge of three guards surrounding them: Arkænyn walking before them; two Sentinels flanking them. He spoke of religion with the priest, both those of Solunarium and those of Ecith. He had managed to persuade the young cleric to accompany him. While he didn't know if the entire party would enter the temple or if he would go in alone, he wanted to set the precedent of a Varværyn priest showing respect to the local religion. He had also assured the young man that under no circumstances was he to bend the knee to any or all of the Orkhan Triumvirate. Respect, he had said, not worship.

They heard the music first as they approached, and then the breezes, redolent with blooming flowers, caught them. Their conversation petered out and Finn put his hand on Arkænyn's shoulder to arrest his movement.

"We are safely here," he said, "and you have my thanks. Now I must precede you."

Deferring, Arkænyn stepped back in line with the Sentinels, and they followed Finn with Ramses at his side. No doubt there were other Sentinels nearby, weaving their way through the throngs in the street to be nearby should their legatus need them, but they were as ghosts once he arrived at the temple, melting back into whatever other duties they had that day.

Finn paused once again to listen to the last of the lesson, and he smiled at one of the younglings who stared so hard at him that they made eye contact.

At the greeting from the Muse, Finn made a funny face.

"I suppose it's unlordly to admit it, but I have not yet grown used to title or name." The Muse didn't bow; neither did he. Such formalities seemed unnecessary here. "In Common, in Vastian, or in Ecitharese, it does seem that music and even musical instruction are a common language. It made me smile to hear almost the same words that I recall from one of my first instructors translated into another tongue."

He didn't make the obvious connection between that and the message he had brought from Solunarium: 'there is more that might unite us than that should divide us.' It was sincere, but he didn't want to overdo it and sound like a propagandist.

"I am well, Muse Windwhistler," he replied, matching his level of formality with his host's. "I hope the same for you."

Chuck already knew his entourage. Arkænyn and Ramses' faces were familiar since that first feast, and the Sentinels, veiled, weren't meant to be acknowledged at all.

There was a lute strapped to his back as they had bade him do, but it was not the one transformed by Varvara's favor. That one was only brought out for special occasions, for specific needs. It was too powerful now for casual strumming. He had once suspected it might have been touched by Syren, but it had not been overtly magical. Half the time he wondered, aye, but the other half, he assumed it was just a lucky find in the shop, its timbre blending felicitously with his own. Varvara had imbued it with true power, and he treated it with even more reverence than he treated a mundane instrument. They could all create beauty, after all.

A couple of Ecithians claiming to be Syren's bards had come to question him about it, to test him. He didn't know if they were true or impostors. It didn't matter.

He was here now.

[Talisman]

Some people were more open than others to his inquiries, and eventual conversations with the denizens of Drathera did happen. Some were stilted, though his Emblem helped, and some were better at Common than others, but the point got across one way or another. There was still a great deal of suspicion, especially since for the most part, they were genuinely wondering what the hell the Solunarians were doing here. Why they'd agree to come. Aside from just trying to take over and take control of the Commonwealth. Finn was certainly more liked than the rest of his entourage, and his easier manner, and the fact he didn't look Vastian nor Re'hyaean, nor did he sound like one, especially when accompanied by any of the others.

"What would you prefer to be called?" Chuck asked him when he stated that it was taking time to get used to the name. The tall Moratallen wasn't looking to make him feel uneasy or odd with it, so it was about Finn's choices here. Solunarium may have stood on a strict and rigid hierarchy, but Ecith was far more relaxed. Basic respect was a given. Slavery was not something that happened here. Staff, yes, slavery, no, even in Alikhandrian's villa. It was illegal here, and it was not uncommon, apparently, for traders to buy slaves and bring them back to Ecith to free them and give them a new start to life. "The basics are the same the world over. The practices do not change... just the languages in which they are taught. Music, as an artform, transcends language. Like food, it brings people together."

He would offer affable greetings to Finn's crew, and whether they chose to come in or not was up to them. But Chuck started the rest of the way up the steps, leaving the choice for Ramses and Arkaenyn to accompany or wait outside if it was a bridge too far too enter one of the temples of the Triumvirate. The soft swell of music that had been around them would grow louder as they walked through the open doors. Inside, the hall opened up considerably, with several smaller rooms off to the sides, allowing for some measure of privacy as doors could close if one so chose. There were statues, not so much of Syren, but of players and instruments, of bodies intertwined in embrace. It seemed that there was no shortage of people visiting - some were playing music, some were listening, there was even something that looked like a handfasting going on, and while Chuck nodded and smiled to convey a brief congratulations and encouragement, the Muse was not about to interrupt the priest and their little ceremony. From the walls, great bouquets and gardens of flowers rested in baskets and vases, with every colour that the eye could detect present.

The further in they got, Finn would find the source of the music that had been playing for the last hour or so - a scaled man that looked like a cross between Ork and Elf was playing a rather long, curved instrument that rather resembled one of Hilana's snakes in its shape. While he maintained a consistent and steady flow of air, nimble fingers played the holes on the serpent-styled horn, coaxing a lovely array of notes and tones from it. Chuck actually paused to listen and watch. The emotions conveyed were palpable, and it was the song of someone that was missing something, someone, dear to them. This was no normal musician, Finn would understand, but a Bard at work. It wasn't Mesmer, as his own was more than a match for most practitioners, but the Emblem of Empathy. The emotions that he could feel were those that the Bard had experienced, and none of his group that accompanied him inward would be immune to that feeling. That feeling that something had been wrenched away, and the way one's stomach and heart twisted into knots and aches...

"Muse," the scaled Bard finally stopped as his song came to an end, inclining his head. When the music stopped, so too did that gut-twisting sensation - easing off, the knots beginning to work themselves out. He didn't seem to be much older than Finn was, though his Orkhan blood gave him more of a size to him. "How was it?"

"Masterful. Painful. I hope that they return to you soon," one large hand rested on his shoulder. "We've all had loves lost and left behind... and sometimes they catch up. Sometimes it's us that needs to find them. You'll find a way."

There was a mutter, and a flurry of words that came too fast in Ecitharese for Finn to follow, but he might well have caught "Gelerand" in there as the man exhaled, bringing his horn to his lips again. Chuck would continue on, letting them get back to their song.

"This way," Chuck offered Finn a small smile as the serpentine horn commenced once more, the haunting notes following them as they carried on towards the inner sanctum. They could hear a lute playing, and Finn might well remember some of the notes of a song he had heard played what had to be more than a year ago. Maybe he wouldn't. But it was rather reminiscent of what he had heard Merry play back when they were on the stage together at the hole in the wall taberna in the Luxium, delicate, light tones that reverberated through the well-lit room.

Syren was playing, deft fingers plucking the strings. She was dressed in a more relaxed manner than she had been when he had laid eyes on her at the welcoming feast, and certainly less than she had been at the Senate meetings that he may have watched since his arrival. The light skirt and vest was held together by beaded straps at the sides, revealing supple flesh while leaving something to imagination. Long hair was bound loosely in a plait down her back, and she looked up from her instrument. Chuck bowed to her.

"Lady of Music," her Herald greeted her before he straightened, and Syren smiled at him, inclining her head.

"My Muse. It is good to see you. And Finn, chosen of Avaerys. Welcome," she seemed genuine, at least, as she lowered her instrument to her lap from where she was sitting. "I am glad you finally came."

[Finn]

"When formality isn't required, I welcome you to call me Finn," he said, his smile honest and sincere.

Whatever Arkænyn, Ramses, or the other Sentinels thought of that was their concern. His progress with the Senate might be slow, but that was to be expected. The ask was huge. He did seem to be making some headway with individual people, however, and that was important as well. If he did succeed in swaying the Senate, Solunarium would still need Ecithian citizens willing to speak favorably of Solunarium, or it might just lead to a popular revolution against leaders who had abandoned them to foreign powers. Honest as Finn was, he knew that the bare truth wasn't always good enough. The truth had to fit into the Story.

He wondered whether Raxen would agree.

Finn nodded again to his small cohort; he would not force them to enter the domain of a foreign goddess. But Arkænyn was his thrall, and would not let him out of his sight. The Sentinels felt the same; they were here to keep the Legate alive. And Ramses, troubled to be sure, was also curious. They kept back, however, and allowed Finn to walk alongside the Mortallen Muse.

His ear was perked up for the entirety of their journey into the temple. He wanted one of those serpentine horns for his own, to experiment with how it sang. He nodded to the Bard with an appreciative smile, but his input wasn't requested and so they continued on, eventually to where he had been called.

The musicians of Solunarium had thought him strange when he didn't make use of his magic to make people feel what he wanted them to feel with his music. He didn't know if there was a similar discourse here with regard to Syren's gift. Finn just felt that wasn't fair, for him to make anyone feel anything. He wanted his music to be able to stand on its own, for skill and artistry to do that work, to invite people to share in his feelings as he sang, or the feelings he had when he wrote a song, or to feel whatever feelings the music inspired, which could be specific to them and their story.

When he did use Mesmer with his music, he tried to make it tenuous, to let it twine out like vines along with his song. He extended a magical hand, but left it up to them whether they took it or not. Because Lystreia's fans in the nightclubs wanted her to take them to a trance state, took intoxicants and danced in order to reach that place. There, at least, her Mesmer served a purpose, did what was asked of her.

Finn was all right with being strange.

His small entourage stopped before he walked across the threshold into her presence. They had not been invited there. Finn was content with that.

He nodded respectfully at her greeting.

"Triumvir," he said. "Thank you for the invitation. I am here."

[Talisman]

If he wished to be called Finn under more relaxed circumstances, then so be it. Chuck was a fairly relaxed sort, as best as Finn could tell from what he'd seen of him, and most of intelligence the Sentinels had gathered from him seemed to say the same. He was the Consul of Peace in the Senate, and as such, helped mediate and calm things down if tempers ran hot. Largely, any intervention rarely went beyond a spoken interjection and a reminder for civility.

The Moratallen had no real objection to Finn's escort joining them; they knew what was expected of them by now in this place - they may defend, but they were not allowed to start something. Some places may have allowed a diplomatic cohort some level of immunity and protection from law and prosecution, but the Commonwealth was not one of them. The Solunarian delegation was not granted any such privileges, and the Consul wasn't worried either about their attempting something. The massive Bard was more than capable if there was a problem, even if he might prefer to defuse a situation first. And starting something in here might well be as sacrilegious as someone starting a brawl in the Templum Solis Radians, with Avaerys in residence, no less.

Chuck took a seat off to the side, a seat that was large enough that it was entirely possible it had been made with him in mind. With Finn's entourage staying back, she paid them little heed. She was one of the most ancient demigods in the world, and yet, the youngest of the Triumvirate. The Moritasi's fingers caressed the wood of the instrument on her lap. "Are you enjoying your time in the Commonwealth thus far?" Syren inquired of him. They had seen each other since that first and sudden introduction at the welcoming feast, though their paths had not crossed enough for conversations since then. "I have heard your playing for quite some time... and perhaps it's just me, but you seem to finally be doing more of it here than you were more recently in the arid lands to the east."

She regarded him thoughtfully. "You've been asking many questions of my people. What would you ask, Finn Viator, now that we are face-to-face?"

[Finn]

Finn and Chuck were in agreement on one thing: peace was preferable to violence. He watched the Mortallen take his place to the side, and then offered Syren his attention. Despite her strangeness, he felt an entirely understandable mortal response to the numinous about her. There was that primal urge to bow to something or someone greater. But he wore the crown of Aværys, and bore his God's pride like a relic.

"Caring for my instruments has been a new challenge with the heat and humidity," he admitted, "but that is every musician's burden to bear." He smiled, winsome enough, though it was not his intention to stoke desire in the heart—or loins—of the Orkhan triumvir. The last thing he wanted was to destabilize Arvælyn's peace of mind, especially given he might have to treat with these powers at some point.

"It is true, though: as busy as I have been making myself available to your senators and attempting to build bridges with your people, I have been able to spend more time on music while here. It is some solace for leaving family and spouse behind." A more bittersweet smile flickered then, but his Sacrifice was important to the realm, and possibly to this one too. "I have been learning a great deal about Ecithian music, of course. Ars longa, vita brevis, as my adoptive people say."

His smile went solemn. His answers had set himself up to answer the last, as well.

"I feel it incumbent upon me to ask your pardon, Syren of Songs," he said, affording her the honorific of her father. "A lute came into my possession at a pawn shop in Kalzasi. Your sigil was on it and while it was an excellent find, it hardly played like some legendary instrument. All the same, when I first came to this continent, I had a wanderer's desire to bring it here and offer it to you on the chance that it was, in fact, yours. I didn't realize until I arrived in Solunarium how deep-seated the enmity between that realm and yours ran. When my amatus' fully identity was made known to us, it became clear that if I loved him, I would have to stay in Solunarium. In my attempt to adopt it as it was adopting me, I offered that lute as a Sacrifice to Varvara Domina. It was a Sacrifice of my plans to my new reality. It was not until I was approached by Bards that I became aware of my mistake.

"If I offended you, it was out of ignorance rather than malice, but that is not an excuse, only a reason. If there are means by which I can rectify this, I would gladly endeavor to do so. I would not have a fine gesture made in ignorance stand between peace between our realms."

[Talisman]

"It can be troublesome, isn't it? It may acclimate over time, but one must take a great deal of care until then. There are ways, but you might be best talking to a negator on how to best ward them. You have that Rune, I understand, but perhaps it would be helpful to you to have some guidance there," the comely Orkhan offered with a smile, touching Her own. There were treatments for wood and brass instruments, but the most fool-proof involved the use of Negation to dispell the humidity. "Some of my Bards could show you how, if you would like."

Music had a way of communicating that which words could not. It was a bridge between the heart, mind, and soul, and Her Bards helped bring that out. Finn may not have had Her Emblem, though She might have given it to him at one time. Perhaps She should have much sooner, and that could have changed the situation now. However, what was done was done, and so be it. But Myshala's daughter was content to listen, watching him as he stood before her. What he didn't say was as interesting to her, if not more so, than what he was saying.

She understood, as did her fellow demigods, why they were there. There was little question of it; the dragons had reported back to the Senate seasons ago. Galetira had mentioned it to her and Raxen. There was some comfort, at least, in that Finn did not seem interested in attempting a military conquest if the current method failed. The Commonwealth would respond if they did, and the three who had seen so many thousands of years of war would have to return to it. But whether Solunarium had the belly for it was another thing. Their Gods may have returned, as they had seen them in the pantheon, but what happened remained to be Seen.

He offered an explanation for his actions that had warped and twisted that lute, though it did not absolve him from it. All the same, what was done was done; and Syren was not about to attempt to purify the instrument now that Varvara had sunk herself into it. "I appreciate your candour," the demigoddess' fingers touched the strings of her instrument thoughtfully. "It was one of mine, once, and it ended up there after being lifted from one of my Bards, may he rest in peace. But you may rest assured that I do not carry any ill will towards you for its destruction and subsequent rebirth into something else. Varvara and I may have many differences of opinion and points of view, but Hers can still produce a beautiful song with the right hands. You cannot harmonize if everything sounds alike, can you? It requires difference voices."

If he felt the need to repent somehow, he would find a way to do so to clear his conscience. Perhaps it was a weight off to know that Syren would not hold the grudge. "But I suspect peace between our nations will take a great deal more than one instrument. Our cultures are very different, as I am sure that you are understanding, and Solunarium's xenophobia is not something that can be mended in this generation, or perhaps three from now."

[Finn]

"I will inquire," he promised.

There were a thousand other duties for an ambassador, but as he was using music to build bridges with Ecithian citizens, he could afford to spend a little time learning a magical trick to preserve his instruments. Already, he could imagine how he would attempt it, but a bard would have figured out how to ward wood and steel such that the wards themselves did not affect resonance.

Finn was relieved. Even though one God had his back (and, in most cases, two as the Twins were somewhat of a package deal), he did not want another God as his enemy. So far, Syren certainly seemed as civilized as the Orkhan of Karnor, which set him at ease.

"You are gracious, Syren of Songs." But relief turned into more of a mixed bag.

He sighed, acknowledging her point with a nod.

"I came to Solunarium as an outsider, and they took me in. But my circumstances were specific. I have adopted many of their ways, and remain critical of divers others. I am allowed to quietly—sometimes not so quietly—dissent, but I live in a position of privilege, as well as in a position closer to the source of their ways. Aværys Himself has told me that He and His Sister used their period of incarceration to reconsider Their values and to evolve.

"There are good people in Solunarium, but they are steeped in tribalism. It would take time to unmake what centuries of mistrust has wrought, but perhaps not so long with a concerted effort."

In Solunarium, minds were influenced magically. Here, too, the Bards with their Goddess-given empathy could teach the Orkhan not to hate the Re'hyæn elves and the Vastian humans.

If it were up to Finn, all of that would be handled more holistically and with a lighter touch from magics arcane and divine. Show the people a better way and trust that they will follow of their own accord; that was his way. And Aværys hadn't yet snatched away His grace.

[Talisman]

His voice was but one instrument. He had to take care of that, too, but considering he liked accompanying himself with some musical apparatus or another, the other ones needed to be maintained. And the best way might come from those who had lived in this environment all their lives, and had passed down tips and tricks. If anything, it was another olive branch and a stepping stone to conversations that he liked to have.

"Not hundreds of years, but thousands. And the methods by which they would use to unmake it are quite frowned upon by our culture," Syren was not unkind, despite the plainness of the words. "I speak of xenophobia, but that is merely the start of incompatibility, Finn. We value freedom here. Slavery is not legal. Mass conditioning through Mesmer or other means are not allowed. Even my Bards would not do that here with Empathy. The obsessive control through which Solunarium runs its society will not happen here. I hope that that is understood... by you and those to whom you report to. If that is the goal of your draconic sovereign, then I will tell you now: it will fail."

Syren was content to ignore his retinue - all of Her attention seemed to be on Finn. "Food for thought, but it was not why I extended an invitation to you to come here," She indicated his instrument. "I would like to hear you, and to listen to your Song. It has been a while since I've heard you play in person, and I am curious to see how it has changed since I heard it last." In many ways, She did consider it a shame that She hadn't offered him Her emblem before Avaerys had done so, but the lad was a gifted player without it. He had an innate talent, and was more finely in-tune with his emotions than many people of his adopted homeland.

Chuck rested his lute in his lap, and he seemed to be looking forward to the show. They would see what harmonization could be found in sacred ground

[Finn]

Finn nodded acknowledgement of her amendment to his words. He was a quick-lived human, and while a student of history, he had only lived a short while in the grand scheme of things. A century was nearly the same as a millennium to his mind, both periods of time so long as to be baffling when he actually tried to imagine them.

"I come also from a land that abhors slavery," he said. "It has hurt my soul to live among them, and I strive to treat them as people even when they shun it. But since traveling to Kaladon to meet the Divine Twins, They have continually said that times are meant to change for Their people and soon. Of course, They are as eternal as you are. At some point, if all goes well, your Triumvirate will hold peaceful conference with Them and matters beyond my ken can be debated.

"There are many historical precedents for nations being absorbed into a larger empire while retaining relative autonomy within their borders." He had the good grace to blush. "You might know this better than I. If the decision is made to be annexed, the Commonwealth would be expected to exact concessions. And perhaps, from the inside, Ecith might change Solunarium for the better."

His hope was naked in his eyes.

For love, he had made Arvælyn's land his land. He had made Arvælyn's Gods his Gods. He had uprooted his life, and then he had pulled his family along with him.

He would never quite fit in Solunarium, but if it was his home and would be the home of his nieces and nephews and their progeny, he wanted to make it better, even if his idea of what constituted better was not the same as the Phædryns.

"Ah," he said, eyes and smile flashing, a hint of Finn the Fantastic, humble minstrel of Kalzasi showing in the flourish of a bow. As he stood, he was pulling his lute around and quickly tuning it, though he had tuned it before he came. "A song for the lady."

His fingers did as they often did, finding the song before his conscious mind decided. When he realized what he was playing with the simple introduction, he smiled. It was appropriate: an intimate song for an intimate setting played for the goddess of intimacy.

"Look, I'm standing naked before you;
Don't you want more than my sex?
I can scream as loud as your last one
But I can't claim innocence.

Oh God, could it be the weather?
Oh God, why am I here?
If love isn't forever
And it's not the weather,
Hand me my leather."

He didn't wow her with the volume or complexity, but rather bared his soul with magic but music. And he was cognizant of the fact that his calls to a God, any God, were heard by one in fact.

After one verse and one chorus, he vamped, waiting to see if she would want him to continue or if she would want to direct his demonstration in another direction.