He would give her a slight, cursory glance as she failed to speak at all in regards to his attempted comfort. He only caught her cheeks flushing further, along with the slight nip of her own lower lip. Though her features remained mostly blank, it was in these small intonations that he found her worry vocalized despite not a sound leaving her mouth. "It's not a matter of concern." He would add, another quip to try and put her mind at ease.

As he began to walk, the mare would follow at his side, and he would idly scratch under the curve of her jaw. The scent of her intertwined flowers a fresh, sharp contrast to the otherwise faintly sour atmosphere of Anderstel. Knowing or otherwise, the entire town simply smelled foul to him, not quite unlike a barn, but something else. It was as if the crops had rotted upon their very vines. Livestock grew fetid even as they grazed upon the flowing fields of greenery. His skin crawled faintly as his gaze caught that of one of the guards. Though the fellow did nothing but offer a slight nod, he couldn't help the unease that bit at him. He merely returned the gesture, and though his stare slid away easily enough, he could not avoid the feeling of being further observed.

“…Sweets?” Ah, finally something that wholly piqued her attention. A simper would drift across the edges of his mouth, a small victory in and of itself from what he had gleaned from his time with her and the impressions that Os had given him. While he had not used their bond to spy upon the little lord, it would be a lie to claim that the feline had told him nothin in their time apart. He would be glad to know that he had finally found at least a small way to repay her some of her kindness. It wasn't long before they stood before the assorted goods, his gaze lingering over the offered treats. "Pick whatever you'd like." A low hum would leave him as he allowed his focus to land upon the shop keep, a soft, friendly face that watched the pair of them. "Do you have Osmanthus tea?" he would pose, knowing that should the chill of the evening air begin to bother her, it would do wonders for her. There was also a selfish desire to once again delight in its aroma, a bleak wonder if it would still be the same or likewise tarnished. "We do, a favorite of my wife's." The man would oblige, filling a cup before handing it over to him. One that he would likewise offer to Avarice. "For you." The words would accompany the gesture.

 
At the mare's playful nudge, he would give her a simper, the hand she had shoved her nose into rising up her face to pat the elegant curve of her neck, gloved digits digging nicely against the sinew in pleasant attention, an action Nef often found very indulgent. “Envy, do behave." Avarice would softly chide as he once more felt the warm heat of the equine slight snort. "She's quite alright." He assured, trying to put the maiden at ease. In truth, he found the games the fresian played to be amusing, innocent in nature as her aim was not to truly harm him.

However, as they neared the stand, he didn't miss the rising beat of her heart against the delicate birdcage of her ribs. The first genuine emotion he could plainly see register within her person. It was... a nice change to the stalwart maiden. With his offer, she would meet his stare with yet further, albeit gentle, fervor. Clearly he had indeed found something that she resonated with, though it seemed something she did not often partake in. He had once known that femmes oft deprived themselves of such treats when trying to fit into a particular dress or what have you. He had also heard Isabella complain before that her corsets were far too tight should she take anything from the baker.

No matter her reason, he would merely follow her eyes, drifting over the assorted batch that some still found steam upon behind the vulnerable shield of parchment papers. Finally, her flushed focus lie upon a particular cake, though she would momentarily find distraction in his own inquiry. He knew that romanticizing the past was beyond dangerous, but he could not help himself of late. As such, it was of little surprise that the oolong he recalled smelled remarkably familiar here - perhaps it wasn't as grand as what he had once known, but the soft floral scent that wafted further chased away the dingey mire that had lingered here. It was almost exactly what he remembered. “Thank you,” he would incline his head, a slight eagerness for her to try the drink, should he be honest. To do as he no longer could. “Did you name your cat after this tea?” A brow rose slightly at the inflection upon her vocals, something almost taunting within her tone if he didn't know better. "No,he was named after the wine, I'm afraid," he would return her tease, knowing all too well they shared the same.

“Do you think it will pair well with that cupcake there? We could share it. I do not think I can indulge all of it.” His gaze would once more find her intended treat, one he had the merchant place within a waxed bag, the end folded down neatly and passed to his grasp, only for it to be offered to the dame as well. "I believe so. The tea itself is on the sweeter side, if I recall correctly. It will also do well to soothe your throat, if it's irritated by the evening air." However, her offer to split would only be met with a faint, hollow smile. "Would that I could, Lady Avarice. But I was robbed of that luxury quite some time ago."

 
“My apologies, I did not mean—..” His gaze would shift towards her momentarily before blocked slightly by the large imposition of her travel companion. He would allow them their privacy, his own eyes once again towards the shop keep as he handed over the price for the cupcake. "It's alright," he would offer. Perhaps she had known about his vampirism, maybe the surprise merely came from the fact that he couldn't simply enjoy food the same as she. Then again, the less she beheld of himself and those of his ilk, the better her quality of life would be, in the end. Though she did indeed seem quite sheltered from the horrors of the world around her, maybe word had simply not spread to the remote wilderness in which he had discovered her home within. It made little difference in the end, however. It may have even been better for her this way, if she was none the wiser to his true nature. Maybe this would pose some distance to any threats that may lurk, especially if Mithras really did have some manner of suspicion over the two of them knowing one another.

“Thank you, Theodred Sir.” She relented after a brief sigh. It caused his inquisitive mithril stare to find her once more, looking for the telltale signs of discomfort or forced niceties. “This tea is quite the treat, I think.” She would hum instead, somewhat to his surprise. Another smile would illuminate his features, though his focus would stray away from the present, if but just for a moment. "No trouble. I'm glad, sounds as good as I remember then." There was true pleasure that she seemed to genuinely enjoy the drink, a small happiness gifted this evening.

“It nearly rivals my mothers but—” she would stop herself and he would arch a slight brow at her. There was a wonder if the woman had ever returned, or if the poor maiden had merely been left to her family home and its staff for the entirety of this time. Was her fret for Osmanthus born of loneliness? She certainly seemed fond of the feline, but was it mere worry of his anger that had plagued her earlier, or was it the sickening feeling of being alone? Despite being a cat, the little lord did seem to have a list of human-like qualities. Their bond may be to blame, but in truth, he had never truly imparted any arcane energy onto him. His traits seemed to merely be his own, what made him him. “I could never bring myself to tell her that she would be beside herself moreso than ever.”

"I'll find some to be brewed," came the promise, "so the two of you can share a cup." He couldn't imagine that it would be too difficult to find the ingredients, he was certain after all that the flowers didn't only grow on the island of his birth. If that was the case, even these roving merchants would have a great difficulty collecting them. Dunmeath probably couldn't afford such luxury, but he was sure that the capitol would have more variety. "Would that be acceptable?"

 
Her attention turned back to the tea, drinking deeply from the cup. He would not press, his attention straying to the mare, his palm pressed to the warmth of her neck in idle thought. His gaze would linger once again upon the multitude of fresh flowers that wove like ivy through the jetty strands of her silken mane. “Oh dear.” The words accompanied the rattle of the packaging, once again reinforcing the thought that she did, quite certainly, have a sweet tooth. When Osmanthus next fled to her presence, he would have to laden him with such treats to pay his way to the spoiling that the delicate lady gave him. He only hoped that the feline wouldn't merely eat them himself.

Things were to progress avidly now. A fact that had invoked some manner of turmoil within himself on its own. While he was not often one for rest, he would find even less time for such a means if he was to continue down the path of his current plans. Tonight would be a cursory test, one he hoped would prove well. He hadn't expected to spend so much time here in the eaves of the shops, if he was to be honest. He had thought to be better prepared for the mess of things to transpire, but maybe it was for the best. It gave him more time to think, to plan out the trajectory of his scheme. He was not one to often visit Anderstel for a great many of reasons, but he was familiar enough with the area. Momentarily, his thumb would brush over the parchment that made up the enchanted 'pet' within his pocket. He hoped it would function as he wished, a small trial needed before he went on to larger feats. Though judging by what details he had witnessed already in the interaction with Avarice, he felt confident it would function as he deemed.

He should be able to use it to discern routes any patrols take, a silent report written upon its surface, along with anything the guards would speak. He knew a small holding cell nearby where those deemed unfit to till the fields were held for either sell or execution, it made an almost too perfect trial area before he would move this operation to something different. It was also rather lowly populated in his experience, so he held his hopes that should he be too debilitated or things went too horribly wrong, he would be able to make a good retreat to rethink his strategy. “I do not see why not,” her voice withdrew him from his musings. “But you needn’t do so if you do not wish it.” His crown would tilt faintly. "If I didn't wish it, I wouldn't have offered." He reassured.

Though her next words would take him slightly off-guard, making him feel a faint chill, “May I be frank with you, sir?” Once again, his head would incline, a silent affirmative for her to continue. He more than half expected for her to spin her farewell and depart, though instead, she would continue, “I think I was worried you would be cross with me regarding Osmanthus.” His teeth clicked together lightly, a thoughtful hum departing him. He was uncertain if he should speak to her of his own presence there, that he knew at least somewhat of the ordeal that she had gone through. He also knew Mithras's view on those he viewed as lowly worms to be crushed under his heel, so he could merely fill in the blanks of their interaction within the pass of his imagination. Perhaps the whole of his sharp tongue wouldn't have found her, as a means to not draw attention to himself more than necessary in the excursion. "Not at all. I knew Mithras had found Osmanthus. As I told you when I left him at your home, all you needed to do was ask him for me. I don't make a habit of prying into his business, but I can. Communicating with me through him truly is quite that simple."

“I quite enjoy his company as I do yours. While my mother doesn’t necessarily disapprove of them, I think she is more inclined to canines.” This, however, truly brought a slight mirthful chuckle from his lips. He had gathered as much, though it had been faded when he had stayed under her roof, there had been the tell-tale signs of lycanthropy clinging to the walls. He didn't want to seem rude, let alone offend her over her mother - or perhaps it had been her late father - but he certainly didn't prefer the company of mutts. “Of course, there is always a reason behind every action, I think.” "I understand," he spoke after a lingering pause of his own. "If it is ever an inconvenience for you for him to be present, you can always send him away." His weight would shift, his arms crossing loosely over his chest. "As for myself, I will not trouble you unless you call for me, because as you know, I'm more of a cat person myself."

 
He was unlike many of those who would twist words or minced niceties over nothing, a trait that had planted him upon the front lines rather than in a seat of diplomacy. He would rather have matters be blunt, unmarred by frivolous and flowery words. He didn't enjoy portraying face in social outings or being an emissary of speech rather than action itself. He supposed that maybe that was an oddity  to her, or perhaps those in her life often promised things they did not deliver. Through his interactions with her, she certainly didn't seem the picture of a spoiled child despite her home being much.... better off than those that were close. To say the little settlement she called home was poor would maybe be an understatement. Many of the places he had passed had been rickety, some huts at best. It brought to mind nothing he had grown up in, the empire once being quite well off and even those of lower class had plenty and wanted for next to nothing.

Before Dunmeath, he had also settled into the capitol city of Lavalles, a place that also had its fair share of frivolous homes and mansions. Wrought iron gates and flowering trees to separate them from one another. Another thought then darkened his musings, a recollection from his conversation with Helayne. He did certainly hope that the town was doing better than Odersten seemed, even if she had no money, appearances meant a lot.

And the poor ate the rich in times like these.

“Delicious.” Her hum would distract him from such a trail. Again, the simper would pin his mouth. It was quite the change to see the normal placid surface of her demeanor course with ripples over something so simple. Paces were relaxed, leisurely as they cleared the front of the baking stall. “So do I just simply speak with him, is that how it works?” Glancing to her, he found the dark sauce smudged upon the tip of her pert nose, mouth still partially full though surprisingly little remaining behind of the cake itself. Before he could say anything, she would rush on with a: “Pardon.” as she washed down the rich chocolate with the remainder of the soft tea. “I did not think this would be so messy…” From his breast pocket, he withdrew the ivory of his handkerchief, brushing it softly over her nose, should she not pull away, before he would offer it to her as well. "He's not very good at many things," he would begin in answer to her previous inquiry, "but he is a good listener. He knows my name, he will call to me if he hears it."

“Oh, do not misunderstand, please.” She would begin, the mess of ganache upon her cheeks making it a somewhat difficult task to take her seriously. “He is never an inconvenience, neither are you. Envy is too large for my room and I cannot always visit the stables.” It would also seem that his earlier, unspoken inquiry would be answered in this manner as well. It would seem that her mother had as of yet not returned, though he most certainly wouldn't count himself among good company to keep. “The hay can be rather irritating without fault and the dust and pollen makes it difficult to breathe sometimes.” He could not recall what it was like to have such complications. Some things he recollected better than others, though now the trouble of drawing air was only associated with the cruelty and madness of his creator.

He was, however, completely unprepared for her next curiosity. “Is Mithras your… what is the term… mate? I think?" Disbelief, first colored his stare as her words trespassed between them. "It would explain why Osmanthus departed from me so eagerly..” Then he smiled, an expression that was all teeth, bereft of friendly intention. He eyed her sardonically, dryly. "Now, Lady Avarice," his vocals were gentle, far too soft, "why ever would you be curious of that?" She knew not what she said, he told himself, a leverage against the bitterness and snapping venom that filled his jaws. She didn't know that he barely tolerated the naval commander, even on his good days. Let alone calling him his.... mate. Is that what others called such a thing now a day?