He feels a little like an ass, but he can't help it: when she drinks and makes a face before returning his wine, he finds himself laughing--not unkindly, but laughing all the same.
Gracious, a good sport, a French girl herself based on the accent--and clearly has a delicate palette. That, and she's a soldier from the look of her.
He likes her already.
Signaling to one of the waiters drifting around, Cyrano orders a lighter white wine with more fruit notes and less punch than the bolder port he's drinking.
"You're claustrophobic." he pressed, this time in English. "No shame, soldier, so am I. If not for my poetry, I'd have long since flown."
He lifts his notebook and gestures with it.
"That is why I am here." he declared. "Because I am not here--I am at the cliff's edge, calling to my muse for wings with which to fly from here...and, sadly, she does not hear me in this place."
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Gracious, a good sport, a French girl herself based on the accent--and clearly has a delicate palette. That, and she's a soldier from the look of her.
He likes her already.
Signaling to one of the waiters drifting around, Cyrano orders a lighter white wine with more fruit notes and less punch than the bolder port he's drinking.
"You're claustrophobic." he pressed, this time in English. "No shame, soldier, so am I. If not for my poetry, I'd have long since flown."
He lifts his notebook and gestures with it.
"That is why I am here." he declared. "Because I am not here--I am at the cliff's edge, calling to my muse for wings with which to fly from here...and, sadly, she does not hear me in this place."