If I answer that, are you going to tell me something fascinating about the little-known peculiarities of fishing?

[She's learned by now, of course, that Paul is a creature of kaleidoscope moods; this one is new and fascinating. There are bits and pieces of others she's familiar with — a little feckless, a little unpolished, a little charismatic — but all with an undercurrent of something she's harangued him about before, and assuredly will again: he's about the polar opposite of buried down deep in his own head right now.

It lends an extra touch of humor to the sight of the shine of his shirt, she muses as she takes the hand he offers, shakes it, and then presses a small box into it before he can pull it away again. If he tried to carry the world on his shoulders wearing that, it'd probably slide right off again.]

Here, I brought you something. Some better bait, for the next time you go fishing in gambling halls.

[It's a small shallow box, about a few inches square, and set inside it are a pair of pins about the same size as his silver falcons. These, however, are in the shape of crescent moons, black, and set with four tiny cut stones each: two red and two green.]