Big mouth?

She feels her lips rise into a sneer at such honorable mention.

Her son is not the only one amused with the flame laced words being tossed ever so nonchalantly between the two unicorns, the woman entirely amused with the game and d’Artagnan pretending, as usual, that he was not having just as much fun as she was. It was no matter to her, anyway – one of them had to be genuinely mad or it would lose its luster and the game would no longer be enjoyable.

Slyly, she winks to him. ”Observant as usual, dearest Doctor.”

And then the bickering seems to be over for the time being, which she is sorrowful for but is well hidden behind the enthusiasm with which she speaks of her herd. The change that comes over her long term companion in the macabre arts is evident in the humorous chortles that occasionally rise at her witty and hidden descriptions of his talents and, most obviously, when his words rush out of his mouth like an unbidden river of cheerful malice.

It was an odd, odd way to be, she decides most immediately, her son looking to the bloody bay with eyes wide with wonder at the sudden change in the man’s demeanor towards the entire situation, too young to understand that it was a high and not the man’s genuine state of being.

Were all of mother’s friends crazy as she was?

It was an answer to a question that had followed her for a long time, however, that the Earth itself had blessed d’Artagnan with his knowledge of all the things growing in the soil that could quite quickly and harmlessly return one there (or languorously feast on the innards of the victim, leaving them in agony, or leave the mind dumb and muted…); it settled the curves of her smile more firmly into the porcelain of her mask, to know that she was among those blessed by Gods and beloved by fate.

Her ear flicks to and from each of her companions as their words flicker in the conversation, finally settling on Sialia as she decided from the numerous options that Illynx had presented her; a soldier’s walk, hm? Illynx smiles, the darkness of her soul easily spied in the wolfish way her lips curve at the mention of her life until she had acquired her crown of ice.

Glancing to d’Artagnan with her pungent smile still lingering on her lips, she laughs merrily to his reply, too used to his stagnant social abilities to take the teasing as anything more than it was. Anyone who wished to learn from him would have to suffer his mouth; might as well begin the lessons in patience here.

What he says next, however, makes her brows rise and her smile instantaneously vanish into a scowl.

”I was a soldier myself, once,” she says through narrowed lids as her gaze angles its way back towards Sialia, softening some in the passage, ”a good path, one of honor and in which valuable lessons are learned. Never have I done interior design. He’s merely disgruntled none of the caves we expanded in the mining process were his own, as surely he’s seen the purpose was for more than just housing room unless he’s as blind as he is witty.” Of course, she means the Sentinel, a giant among men that would be hard to miss even one was blind – the wind even made a cacophony of its discovery as it beat across the metallic pelt of the thing, loud even while perfectly still.