[it doesn't really matter where, exactly, they're going, as long as it's away from the thickest crowds — and she pays just enough attention as she walks to keep track of that. the rest of her focus, though, goes to watching his face; it's hard to get a read on him, this ass who's also somehow funny in his own stupid way, this idiot who's also definitively not an idiot. she takes note of the shifts she sees, the way that it looks like there's a comment just waiting to jump from the tip of his tongue, but never launches.

if it were her, she'd have taken whatever shot.

she keeps watching him as she takes this in, the smell of food around them only minimally tugging at her attention, because this is interesting. the all-wanting-to-know welcoming committee has missed people. that, or she just has some fucking shit luck.

anyway:]

Apparently [strong emphasis on that word], they throw you into a dungeon if you go into the East Wing of the castle.

[she tilts her head. then, and only then, does she finally let out a faint little snort.]

Or he's just a rancor's ass making shit up because he gets off on telling people what to do.