Listening is given the utmost attention. Hannibal's eyes fade closed as Cynric begins, once Hannibal has already taken stock of the concentration in the set of his jaw and eyes. One hand's fingers are splayed on the bartop like he's drumming them, but they remain still - there's no outward motion that sways with Cynric's song, but Hannibal is intently feeling it just the same. When he breathes in, he can almost taste the swirling magic on the air, like a lizard. It smells confident, and strong, even as its obviousness and lack of subtlety might have made it unappealing.

Eyes closed means there's more to hear, as well - the way the strings vibrate just a little differently, a little deeper, as though the magic were a different medium for it to travel through. He hears the plinks of coins and doesn't need to look for them. Even once his eyes are opened again, his attention remains on Cynric's face and Cynric's fingers.

Now is the time for drumming his hands on the countertop - just once, one flat thrum of fingers against the worn wood grain. "You're very good at that, aren't you?

"One wonders why you left it behind while working, the first time we met." He tilts his head to the side. His mouth twitches as if to suggest he would bite his lip in thought, but instead it shivers into a smile. "I suppose it's not very safe. You must be very attached to your lute."