"You'll see me after the play, though, will you not?" He'd ask of the poet as she retreated towards the ladder.  She'd never find herself being stopped or bothered by any of the crew, as Reginald has told them, and her, that she was always welcome to wandering about the theatre, day or night, play or no play.  He knew she could be trusted to respect his establishment, and its contents.<br/><br/>Meanwhile, he turned his attention to the strange girl that was babbling somewhat coherently towards him about a great many things. He watched her, though his eyes are difficult to notice, even up close; indeed, his whole face remains rather well hidden, despite the thin slits for him to see out of, and to talk out of.<br/><br/>"You... are a curious creature." He says with a nod of his head, almost approvingly. "You have a strange, yet inspiring story to tell me. I am quite glad to say that no, I have not seen any naked men running around. Nor have I seen any ghosts. I do, however, see the divine radiance that follows you." As much of a silly fop as he could be, the fact is, Reginald was blessed with a keen insight into the world around him that bordered on the supernatural. He could, in a fashion, feel Zefiriel's presence; the bit of angelic blood in Deva alludes him, though. However, the thing is, he is not entirely certain what it is he feels/'sees' when it comes to Zefiriel. All he can tell is that their is something off, or odd.<br/><br/>Also, surprisingly, he seems to handle the babble that would upset others quite well. Perhaps he pitied her for being a simpleton? One could argue that, but one would be wrong to do so.  Really, it's a mystery to all but himself, as to why he would entertain someone that most would call a lunatic.<br/><br/>"And I am afraid you must return to the audience now. I can not stop my show, not even for Death itself. That would just be terribly uncouth of me, you know?"  He would gingerly indicate the stairs, off to the side of the stage, that would take one down into the seating area.