[The kid's sharp, even if he speaks in music metaphors like they might as well be a second language to him.

There's a hint of an amused grin as he takes another sip of his coffee.]

What can I say? I know a few things.

[That hint of a grin fades fairly quickly, and any trace of amusement vanishes along with it, as he adopts a much more serious tone. Even if he is playing off the use of metaphors the blond had set.]

I might have played my share of bittersweet melodies over the years, and more than a few somber requiems.

[He takes a long sip of his coffee. It's not visible, thanks to his visor, but his eyes are briefly closed as he mulls over the sensory input from the beverage like some kind of grounding tool - focusing on the feeling of the steam, the feeling of the hot liquid on his lips, the taste composition of the blend, the aftertaste, the fragrance, the warmth of the mug..A brief distraction from the high risk of falling down the trap of getting caught up in his own mind, but a welcome one. For that one little moment, all that matters is the steaming hot drink. The world can wait.

He slowly opens his eyes and looks back over at the blond - not that the musician prosecutor would've noticed the difference, thanks to the visor.]