[Her fingers twirling about her hair draw his gaze just a touch more noticeably than they might have otherwise, the drink having compromised his efforts at subtlety, but he does, largely, focus on what she says more than what she does.

He smiles warmly as she explains her love of stories, indulgent; it strikes him as incredibly familiar, given that he feels much the same way about such things.]

I almost went into literature, myself. Diverging paths for the both of us.

[He takes another drink, the contents of his glass getting rather low, and he tips his head curiously.]

I can see you doing well in that field. You're very dedicated, level-headed. Was it your love of stories alone that won out and made you choose your current path, or something else?