She kept smiling, and he found himself unable to look upon it, focusing instead on her eyes. Why did she have to smile at him, when he had not made up his mind as to whether or not he was a threat to them? He didn't want to be one, but — it was so damn hard, to balance his life when he kept tripping all the time, never quite knowing who he was or what he was supposed to do. And it was so easy, to carefully wipe his face, craft a facade, and pretend that everything was fine. Gentle and blue his eyes sought for hers, the thinnest layer of warmth laying across them and shielding the storm beneath, the sad, frustrated confusion within his soul. He'd spent so long asking himself who were I? and trying to remember, that sometimes he forgot that he didn't know. What had once seemed natural, was now hard, but he could not fall down or let someone in on the secret that he was fractured, shattered.. that the ice was cracking ever so slowly.

What was it like, to be owned, to know that your life was not quite your own? His eyes traveled Ari's unblemished neck to the dark shadow lurking behind her, and her haunted gaze, her lackluster, ruffled coat. What was it like, to know that there was no justice, that you had no voice, that any blow landed upon you was allowed, with no consequence? Why did they accept it? "I...I did not think to ask her, sir." He'd seen the brief show of interest from the girl, the merest moment of her ears forward before they returned to lie against her neck again. Life was never easy, least of all for those who got landed in situations like these. At the encouraging, warm look she received from Ari, the found her voice, dropping a name in a weak voice and with eyes downcast. Crowley? Mauja didn't know him all that well, knew only that he was their striped, dual-horned Weaver, that he had a small hellhound pup and that he had authority enough to initiate others into the Plague, although Mauja guessed he had consulted someone first, or acted upon their orders. Mass-initiations like the one he'd witnessed were seldom spur of the moment things, although things were changing and who was he to say he knew what went on any more? He would keep pretending everything was the same until someone told him otherwise.

"I see," he said again, trying to match the image of her damaged body to the one of Crowley. Heartless, then, in his dealings with the lesser races. True to the cause. A stab of guilt, a flash of uncontrolled darkness in his eyes, and then it was gone. He had no place for such feelings. Settling his gaze upon the more relaxed Ari again he remained silent for a moment, watching her with his usual expression — open, curious, as if he judged nothing he saw but only wished to learn and know. It was warmer than it had been when he had just found them, as they both seemed harmless and he knew to bridle his tongue anyway. Much like the way the pale winter sunlight lay warm across a windless snowy landscape was he, deathly cold to the touch yet there was something warm about him. "Are you out alone, often?" Though it was stated with nothing but polite interest, and a certain innocent air, it was a question he desperately wanted to know the true answer to. Surely they were told to keep out of sight, so no one of the, ah, friendlier Basin inhabitants would grow suspicious.. so why were they out today?