[And for a moment, for just the barest little flicker of time, it seems like the man in the chair might legitimately take him up on it. There's a ravenous sort of curiosity lurking somewhere behind his expression—the look of a person designed to ask questions like shears are made for cutting. Why not? They might pick up and go from this room and find some instrument of Thorne. Easy enough, unless they've no such thing as a fiddle here. Why refuse someone willing to demonstrate?

But it's just a moment. And when it is gone, it leaves him sullenly behind in the chair with his shoulders all settled and a hand idle still across that slim book.]

Well, [is like a shrug.] If the subject comes up when next someone is around to poke and prod at me, I'll consider asking after one on your behalf.