The way his fingers keep coaxing sounds from the strings while he thinks and speaks is familiar to Hannibal. Not at all in the sense of one musician recognizing his passion in another, but in the sense of an expert recognizing the comfort someone else can hold in their own skill. Certain motions, certain thought-paths traveled, become so second-nature as to be a new language in and of themselves. It's another way of conversing, of expressing internal thoughts, that can be just as necessary as speech; if not more.

He relaxes into the new expression, eyes between Cynric's hands and face. His mouth twitches, briefly, into an agreeing smile at the first comment.

The compliment has him growing a much slower, permanent sort of smile. It's subtle; in fact it's not in his lips at all. It's restricted to his eyes - where the smile peers out from a mind currently preening. He's smart enough not to give a Cheshire grin at flattery, but he's caught up in it enough not to completely censor the internal fanfare that accompanies it. "That is, of course, impossible for me. My beautiful mind is quite fixed in place." He nods at Cynric's lap. "Your lute, however, and other bards' viols, rauschpfeife, dulcians...they're a bit more separate."

Rather than follow it through towards anything resembling a threat, the thought breaks across his face in an open smile and a small shrug. "I believe it's very romantic, personally. Would you agree?"