[For a moment, he thinks he’s won. Practically arches forward in his seat to draw himself nearer to that attention, the sound of that lowered voice, before—

No. Apparently not.

...pity.]

A shame. I suppose I’ll just have to concede my own meager losses, for now. [Difficult as it is to work up the will to slither out of his own seat and draw himself up at a more...shall we say chaste distance, he manages it all the same with little fuss, and not a hint of whinging. Dignity is his tonight, even in defeat.]

You’ll call on me, won’t you? If you change your mind.