Ford's cheeks flushed at the unexpected… compliment? Yes, he supposed it was a compliment. Nothing more than that. An entirely unfounded compliment, Ford was sure; he'd never been athletic in the slightest and was sure he wouldn't be able to find his way around a Quidditch Pitch even with careful instruction.

"Well, as long as you don't expect me to be as flexible as that," he said, with a nod towards the stage. The contortionist who'd originally caught his eye was moving towards the back of the stage, and his position at the front and center was being taken by a pair of acrobats with a hoop of some kind. A part of him wished they'd trade places again, and he almost said something to that effect to Fisk, but stopped himself. For some reason he couldn't quite articulate immediately, he wasn't sure he wanted his sisters watching that fellow. Being able to see so much of his form might have shocked them. They were too inexperienced to appreciate that sort of thing, he thought (and not to their detriment; young women weren't supposed to be experienced, and certainly not in that particular avenue). Not that he had a wealth of life experience, either... but he was certainly appreciative.

He hesitated a moment. Now that the contortionist had gone he felt a little strange continuing the conversation, as though a spell had been broken. They'd only started talking in the first place because of that dancer, and part of Ford thought Fisk couldn't possibly find him interesting of his own accord.

"I should take my mother her shawl," he said, awkwardly. "She might think I've wandered off and gotten lost."