action;

[She breathes in the smoke like every breath were her last, a thought she doesn't consider in greater depth, while he speaks. The names register with her, one after the other, faceless for now - though she naturally memorizes this Al, considering the portrait Meyer is painting of him, more carefully than the rest. Finally, cigarette balancing between her fingers, Marguerite cocks her head slightly. She isn't ignoring what he's just told her, far from it. Her eyes simply fall on the piano and she finds herself distracted.]

Would your pianist mind terribly, if I were to practice my own lacking skills on his beautiful piano, do you think?