It was good at least one person in the conversation believed in self love. Annie was far more comfortable and familiar with self loathing. Not to any intense degree, but aside from being comfortable in her own skin, she wasn't as comfortable with being what she was.

The photographs, however, she would share, for all she'd find the request unexpected. Or that he'd remembered. She'd figure only Marco would remember, having traveled with her for a few weeks on end.

"Drums, pan flutes, lutes... violins. Stringed instruments more than others, but I'm not the person to ask. I'm not all that cultured, let alone aware of what the rich indulge in when it comes to music." Marley had more variety, but the face she wore here was always presented to seem as it if was from Paradis alone. Her words were true regardless. She really didn't know what instruments people played back home. They were for peoples and lifetimes she'd never be or lead.

She pushes back from the railing, turning around to lean against it with her back. Pushing hair behind an ear, she sighs, flicking her fingers. "It's not that there probably isn't sheet music out there, I just haven't seen it. Military Police Reports? Military Training Manuals? Sure, seen plenty of those. And festival music is all that way, spontaneous and improvised and loud. Which the alcohol aids. Though if you want to come play at a bonfire, I won't object."

Be a sight better than what happened at the funeral pyres.

"Do you have anything like that? Where people spill into the streets, just celebrating whatever the hell it is?"