"They look it," he says about the radishes, without thinking. He steps back, folds his arms (side-effect: hugging himself in blanket) and latches onto the rest. "Nobody in this forsaken Kingdom has the usual ingredients. For anything. That's what I'm saying. Next wanderer that stops by, that elder ought to harry for errand duty."
Dirtmouth isn't in his purview, normally. Dirtmouth as a part of a supply chain, now that he can backseat-micromanage.
...She is stuttering more. Guilt pools in the pit of his stomach and he reminds himself, again: keep it light, Lemm. What aren't you getting about keeping it light.
He coughs. Lightly.
"Aye. Well, s'the right approach. Just making sure they're... peer-reviewed." Subject change. Subject change now. Think of something, you blundering idiot. "How's this Godseeker, anyway? I'm getting mixed messages."
no subject
Dirtmouth isn't in his purview, normally. Dirtmouth as a part of a supply chain, now that he can backseat-micromanage.
...She is stuttering more. Guilt pools in the pit of his stomach and he reminds himself, again: keep it light, Lemm. What aren't you getting about keeping it light.
He coughs. Lightly.
"Aye. Well, s'the right approach. Just making sure they're... peer-reviewed." Subject change. Subject change now. Think of something, you blundering idiot. "How's this Godseeker, anyway? I'm getting mixed messages."