( Good words, fine, decent. Only a little rusted at their seams, and who's Artemius Bale to criticise? Only a man of mercy and modesty and, certainly, a great deal of nodding, light understanding.

A vulnerable woman. A woman of means, by the look and speech of'er. Don't come so often in the Mouse House with these trims. And she's pretty and fine and she'll do mighty fine above. )

Course... course... you've got your troubles. ( And the dusted, thick edge of a cough later: ) I've got me mine. Sometimes, they're... above.

( His gaze sinks, then seeps up, trails a fine line to the ceiling, as if Serthica might open up and swallow him whole. )

Could do with a pair of eyes there. Pretty ones.