His brows rose high, and a lingering ill smile permeated on his face. But before Michal could react further, or more importantly take the time to create an appropriate and insightful response, a sharp jab to his side distracted him. He reacted fully, twisting away from Carys' blunt force of a hand.
"Oy!" Michal let out, and immediately rubbed the tender spot under his ribs with his hand. Carys was well aware of how freakishly strong she was; he did not appreciate her even in the slightest manner of potential maiming. He scoffed as he picked up the edges of his shirt to check, in fact, if a large and purple bruise hadn't already formed. He found himself quite shocked when it hadn't.
"Howell wouldn't tell you anything," Michal stated, perhaps a bit darker than necessary. But, when it came to secrets and Howell Williams, Michal couldn't help but feel disgruntled; it felt like his young friend was keeping more and more from him everyday and less inclined to make Michal privy to any of it. He frowned further, and feeling especially cross now that his fleeting good mood had been ruined, spoke again quickly.
"Michal you haven't played since August, are worried about that at all?" he began, talking in a much higher tone that implied a female speaker. The fact that it matched, to the best of his ability, Carys' welsh accent undertones was completely purposeful. "As your friend I've been thinking how that might be worrisome."
He dropped his shirt, and turned his full attention back to Carys.
"Pfft, Falmouth secrets. Please," he grumbled, also docking his shades back over his eyes. "More like Catapult secrets. Everyone knows the land of prim and proper has galleons worth buried under that pitch, I should be asking you about that."
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