Frederick eyes him for a few moments, still fiddling with his gloves. If this astromancer is one of Blight's followers, he's an incredibly careless one, so that hardly seems likely. Still, he shows a certain lack of regard for what's been happening in England lately, and while Frederick is in no position to lecture anyone about taking these things seriously, he can't help realizing, in the back of his mind, that he's basically agreed to die for the cause-- more of a guarantee than a possibility, at this point.

A brief silence hangs in between them that's almost uncomfortable. Frederick's eyes slide around the rest of the tavern; he's vaguely tempted to excuse himself. But he doesn't.

Instead, he leans forward again, saying lightly, "You never know when one of the Queen's dogs might be lurking around. Of course, if you say something like that loudly enough, you might get yourself that interesting evening you were looking for. Though perhaps not a good time." He grins.