"Prob-...?" she starts, brow furrowing incredulously as she leans back in her chair. It's a startling revelation, to be sure. People don't speak so openly of such things back home (though it isn't entirely unheard of). But the suggestion that she might have a problem with it is bewildering, too - an odd choice of phrase that she hadn't anticipated. His tone is so careful, so polite, and there's no mistaking the implication that having a problem would be comparatively boorish and rude.
Maybe it wouldn't be, back in the Village. When people do speak of such things, it's in hushed tones, wide-eyed over the scandal of it all. But she's not in her Village, she's in Darrow. More to the point, she's in the home of someone who has been nothing but good to her. That hadn't stopped her from fretting over his proclivities, when she thought they might include 'having a little too much interest in her' or 'literally eating people,' but being wrong on both counts ought to be reassuring, not something to fuss over in turn.
If she did, she probably wouldn't be the first. He's gone still, as if bracing himself for a--a problem, and she feels a surge of guilt and disgust at the thought of providing such a thing. She came here to thank him, not make his life difficult.
"No," she says firmly, "it's not." Her voice comes out sounding too loud to her ears, and she softens her tone before adding, "Sorry, you just... startled me, that's all."
Well, this is unbearably awkward.
As sometimes happens under such circumstances - when she feels awkward and ridiculous and wishes she didn't - she begins to giggle quietly to herself. It's not without reason, either; it's an undeniable relief to realize just how wrong she was about his motivations, even if she does feel like a bit of an idiot in retrospect. "Sorry," she says again, burying her face in her hands, hiding her reddening cheeks, "I'm not--I'm not laughing at you, I promise, I just..." she trails off into another giggling spell. He's bound to see the humor, though, isn't he? "I was starting to get a bit worried," she admits, peeking through her fingers at him, then slowly dragging her hands down her face, "because you were being so nice, and I thought you might..." God, she can't even say it, it seems so absurd, now.
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Maybe it wouldn't be, back in the Village. When people do speak of such things, it's in hushed tones, wide-eyed over the scandal of it all. But she's not in her Village, she's in Darrow. More to the point, she's in the home of someone who has been nothing but good to her. That hadn't stopped her from fretting over his proclivities, when she thought they might include 'having a little too much interest in her' or 'literally eating people,' but being wrong on both counts ought to be reassuring, not something to fuss over in turn.
If she did, she probably wouldn't be the first. He's gone still, as if bracing himself for a--a problem, and she feels a surge of guilt and disgust at the thought of providing such a thing. She came here to thank him, not make his life difficult.
"No," she says firmly, "it's not." Her voice comes out sounding too loud to her ears, and she softens her tone before adding, "Sorry, you just... startled me, that's all."
Well, this is unbearably awkward.
As sometimes happens under such circumstances - when she feels awkward and ridiculous and wishes she didn't - she begins to giggle quietly to herself. It's not without reason, either; it's an undeniable relief to realize just how wrong she was about his motivations, even if she does feel like a bit of an idiot in retrospect. "Sorry," she says again, burying her face in her hands, hiding her reddening cheeks, "I'm not--I'm not laughing at you, I promise, I just..." she trails off into another giggling spell. He's bound to see the humor, though, isn't he? "I was starting to get a bit worried," she admits, peeking through her fingers at him, then slowly dragging her hands down her face, "because you were being so nice, and I thought you might..." God, she can't even say it, it seems so absurd, now.