[Perhaps that’s the issue, the distraction that hangs over his shoulders. Though his mind takes note of all that Ferdinand tells him — the gossip flown about the ball, the only worthwhile information born of such a celebration — Hubert finds that the shadow of last night’s dance hasn't fully dissipated. He had never paid too much attention to Ferdinand’s features before, beyond maybe a passing interest in how easily he assumed the emblematic personage of a nobleman, but after their dance, it as if it’s all come to the surface, thrown into clarity that he cannot ignore.

Problematic, considering he thought that the passage night to day might have taken the edge off of that strange moment between them. For all intents and purposes, Hubert feels as if it has, but not without lingering consequence.

He conjures up a reply before his pause runs too long.]

Were it not for how you perform on the battlefield, I would be tempted to call it impractical. Maybe I still will.

[Except he has seen the man battle time and time again, and thus to actually call his impossibly full hair an impediment would flat-out be a lie.]

After all, I cannot focus on your report on the prating between dancing nobles when your hair keeps flying into your face like that. Do you need me to do something about it for you?