There's no recognition when she uses the word vaudeville, but his eyes light with the mention of mummers. A pantomime set in a sand pit, focused on the successes and failures of a group of fighters. Dreadfully dull, he suspects, but it doesn't sound like he's the intended audience.

(He thinks for a moment of Vex'ahlia, of her warning that plenty of their compatriots have come from wildly different places. And then he thinks of other things, deliberately.)

"It sounds as if it's mostly acting." A fight as choreographed as a sarabande, from what she's said. His gaze flicks away from the woman's face, to the wrestlers grappling before them, and back again. "I like a bit more left to chance, if I'm going to watch this sort of thing."