Leon wipes the bar down with a cloth rag, the voices of the patrons quieting down as you stand on the table, clearing your throat. He doesn’t typically allow performers at his tavern, preferring to tell them to “fuck off and keep quiet,” but you’re a notable exception. The way you recite your tales is enthralling; your voice does things to him, he must admit. Leon leans his elbow against the counter, watching you rather intently. He begins to understand why people love the poetic arts.