Leanna is stranded in WA, DC, when she inadvertently hops a tour bus instead of the hotel shuttle (it was parked in the wrong area, by the wrong sign). When she can't cough up $25 in cash, the driver sets her luggage and her off at the first stop -- the National Opera, when Cido was director.
"Shut up, Bri. This argument does not include you."
"What did *I* do? All I did was walk into the room. I didn't say a word."
"You didn't have to. You had *THAT LOOK* in your eye."
He turns and exits the music room, shaking his headfull of blond curls until they jiggled.
With a sardonic smile, Ragnar eyes Leanna, "Routed before entry; pretty good, Lee." Finding the gleam in her eye turning toward him, he shrugs his shoulders and makes for the doorway, calling out to Bri once safely in the hallway.
Alan bends his head over his keyboard, "Just practicing, here. Composing this new song. Not hearing ANYTHING but my notes."
Cido opens the door to one of the glassed in practice rooms where he could be clearly seen running through warm up exercises with his glorious voice only a wisp of imagination as he mimed gestures.
"Why am I here, Adám?"
"I felt sorry for you. Cido likes you. You are a good critic of his ópera, and he will listen to you without rancor." He pauses, weighing his words carefully. "And, you're a good lay."
"I'm not doing the tricks for the troops to pay for room and board."
"Any more, you mean?"