[It's like observing fish eddying under cloudied water: the silver scale flash of his anger or frustration, the dark shape of something sobering like guilt there and then invisible again to the naked eye. She is patience, quiet, and for the length of time that he says nothing she does nothing but resort and shuffle the deck of oddly shaped cards. There is the hiss of their thin plastic backing moving against one another, the faint chime of the charms at her wrists, and little else.

The Station is so still.]

Yes. We are aware and have plans to make our expectations more clear to him. We worry more about what will happen when we aren't present to remind him of his duty, or when The Prince isn't there to stay the hand of certain young hosts who don't know any better. [She cuts the deck. Shuffles. Regards him thoughtfully.] What of Ilde?