[Gilgamesh was off in his own world at the moment, but he's lucid enough to recognize Vietnam. He waves in a perhaps overly friendly way before reaching for her arm to tug her down along with him, onto the couch. Songs were best enjoyed together, after all, and he had many to sing for her.]

My brother bests me in that particular arena, I'm afraid. I was never much of an artist beside him.

[Gilgamesh looks hopefully around, then asks of Vietnam:]

Have you seen him about? He hurried ahead of me, as usual. Little imp; I cannot take my eyes off of him for even a second.