"Perchance," the elf draws out, allowing her expeditious thoughts to coalesce, "'twould be most wise to probe these opportunities each, then." Eileen intones ponderously. In bare curiosity her emerald eyes drift to the door, her mind's eye ticking in thoughtful estimation.
A hum grows from her in the silence, "On the forthcoming morrow." Eileen states. Simply a mild acquiescence, she reasons, she'd been here for not but two days come this eve. Logically, she should not be so quick to rape the new realm of its mystique, lest her drive to pursue it all be burned to charcoal.
It is with a start that her thoughts and attention return to the here and now, "Tomorrow, yes." she spares a moment to clear her throat of ale's aftertaste, "Perhaps I may inquire as to what you, yourself, have planned for the coming days, Faelis?" her tone is curious, politely so even as she finds her head reclining into her hand and thoughts beginning to drift.
This rhythm of conversation, was she the one making it seem dull? Perhaps this is merely the 'small talk' she'd oft see referenced in a work? Always mentioned by some loner bint but ne'er shown. Those precarious and tedious steps to learn of a person before you've decided if you care? Huh, Eileen blinked in bemusement, had Faelis had those gold hairs this entire time? She mentally shrugged, to spare her opposite the confusion of a seemingly random gesture, perhaps he dyes it in soot. . . for whatever reason. . . She was drifting far, it seems.