The guard looked at Lessard for a moment when the man called him stubborn, then he smiled and gave a snort of laugher. "I've heard that its a trait of mine before. I don't see it as negative." His voice carried a pleasant hum of amusement and his smile didn't vanish or fade away as the whore kept talking. Atticus leaned back against the cushion of the chair and nodded at the statement. "I should think so. There must be a play on at the Raptures, the carriages always block the streets. And I suppose I'd agree with you. It would be easier if there were none, but... it would be unspeakably dull." And it would give him something to focus on. Idleness didn't suit Atticus one bit.<br/><br/>His attention was brought to the little notebook Lessard was flicking through, and felt his brows lift. "You write about us?" It was surprising and made Atticus a little uncomfortable. Not so uncomfortable as the knight had, not by a long way, but it was disquieting how people had a habit of watching him. "What things have you written already?" Atticus asked after a brief pause, his curiosity over-riding his discomfort.<br/><br/>There was a sudden busy sound outside, a low murmur of voices, a deep and gruff voice of a man he didn't recognise responding to one of the servants. "I think a guest has arrived," he murmured, putting down his empty cup.<br/><br/>