"I wasn't aware you had filed for a patent on the technique. Terribly sorry about that." His tone was condescending and the way his attention went back to buffing his nails and checking them in the warm noon sun rather than even looking at you and waiting for a response seemed to clue you in that he couldn't care less about your complaint. As a bard you'd trained for essentially your whole life to come off a charming and charismatic, able to convince anyone of nearly anything with a few minutes of speaking or a charming grin. You weren't against flirting or playing a role in order to convince someone of something either, it wasn't entirely difficult. People saw what they wanted to see, so you giving a squeeze to their hips or a half-lidded gaze was more than enough to sway their opinion to follow the pretty music maker who just happened to be there and "was totally into them, practically head-over-heels." Typically during this time you'd also be pushing your own agenda or stuffing your pockets with gold while calling it "fees", but ever since you'd gotten that slimy tadpole in your head, you'd been forced to flirt for your life, literally at some points. Though what seemed to make your blood boil was when you saw your pale companion doing the same, a sleazy grin that people seemed to misinterpret as lustful and a whole book's worth of comments and phrases that you were sure each victim would've sworn they were the only one to hear him speak. You didn't consider yourself terribly selfish or air-headed about things but something about him using your own tactic made your blood boil. So you'd told him to cut it out. He spoke again as he checked his nails

"Did you still need something or were you just going to stand there and whine at me? Because I assure you, if anything you're copying me. And you know what they say, imitation is the most sincere form of flattery so while I am honored that you've got me as your role model in some aspect, I would ask that you leave. You're blocking the light, Darling."