"So in a manner of speaking, we're all inside the Ringmaster," Lambert quips, the lilt of his voice enough to turn the sentence into something bawdy, even if only by implication. There it is, any fleeting impression he might have a sensitive soul under all that bluster ruined.

His attention turns back to the fish, which ... hm. How do you tell it's done, anyway? And there's something about turning them to get the cooking even, he knows that, too. But now, or later?

Maybe he can speed things up with a little magic. A flick of his fingers, and, well, there are definitely two of those fish that are just straight up on fire right now.