[ Wriothesley looks him over then, the calm countenance, the seamless maneuver into a light joke. The forfeit of what was undoubtedly his own trauma unto others. Whether it's Lyney really letting go or not, Wriothesley can't help interpreting it as protection. He once had to protect himself too. Not through charm--not wit, not color and wonder--but through a number of other ways. Making himself unassuming. Making himself bigger than he was, if unassuming didn't work.

Fontanians have their troubles, and they have their masks, too. ]

Hah.

[ He could pry. But he won't. Let the magician keep his secrets: he hopes, after all, that they never have another opportunity for letting their masks slip again. ]

...I'm afraid I have an appointment due soon. But I'm glad that we talked, Lyney. [ He feels no shame in saying it. Why should he? He'd rather be on good terms with him, or at least the best they can manage. ] Do stay out of trouble, now.