The Balladeer's brow furrows as he listens. "I'm...sorry." It's all he can think to say. He's hardly ever had to comfort anyone after a loss before - but then again, she doesn't seem particularly grieved. That's fair enough. She wasn't born until after everything happened, so she wouldn't know any different. She wouldn't feel it the way someone would who remembered personally what had been lost.
That's probably better.
God, though. That's enough to stop his flow of questions, curious as he still is about how such a world must function. Surely it is functioning to some degree; he never would have known she was from a post-apocalypse if she hadn't told him, or maybe he'd listened to a little bit of her song. She even knows Greek mythology! But he doesn't need to know. She's not one of his, and while her refusal to give her name is a little odd, he doubts she's dangerous to anybody.
"How long have you been here?" he asks, in a completely unsubtle bid to change the subject. It's not that he's uncomfortable talking about death and disaster - clearly not - but for God's sake, it's such a nice dream tonight. "I just showed up at the beginning of the month."
no subject
That's probably better.
God, though. That's enough to stop his flow of questions, curious as he still is about how such a world must function. Surely it is functioning to some degree; he never would have known she was from a post-apocalypse if she hadn't told him, or maybe he'd listened to a little bit of her song. She even knows Greek mythology! But he doesn't need to know. She's not one of his, and while her refusal to give her name is a little odd, he doubts she's dangerous to anybody.
"How long have you been here?" he asks, in a completely unsubtle bid to change the subject. It's not that he's uncomfortable talking about death and disaster - clearly not - but for God's sake, it's such a nice dream tonight. "I just showed up at the beginning of the month."