The yelp don't so much as stir a twitch of compassion for the woman. Isidor lifts her chin and arches an eyebrow and waits for her apology. Instead, Zandros appears and her stony expression cracks into a subtle uncertainty. What is he doing here? What is doing? Why is he interrupting?
And then she has to stand there while he cradles Heather's finger. While he coos sweet assurances at them and casts a look of reproach at Isidor. Really, who are the parents here? This is not the time for coddling. She shouldn't need to hold everyone's hand and pet them and tell them how precious they are, as Zandros is doing. Like mother like children, she thinks bitterly to herself, whining when they don't get what they want. All while daring to insult her!
No wonder the Archon is so sour. It's hard to like people when you know they'll only turn into spiteful, unappreciative children the moment they get upset.
As much as she hates Zandros interrupting her, contradicting her and speaking for her, his pretty words appeal to the Weatherhills. They don't deserve to be painted as glorious martyrs, but it is incredibly effective.
By the time Zandros turns his attention back to her, Isidor has fully regained her stoicism. She stares at him with all the judgment of a disapproving and irritated wife, letting the silence hang in the air as she looks to the Weatherhills and then back to Zandros.
"Fine," she says eventually. "I will permit it. As long as it does not consume extra rations."
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And then she has to stand there while he cradles Heather's finger. While he coos sweet assurances at them and casts a look of reproach at Isidor. Really, who are the parents here? This is not the time for coddling. She shouldn't need to hold everyone's hand and pet them and tell them how precious they are, as Zandros is doing. Like mother like children, she thinks bitterly to herself, whining when they don't get what they want. All while daring to insult her!
No wonder the Archon is so sour. It's hard to like people when you know they'll only turn into spiteful, unappreciative children the moment they get upset.
As much as she hates Zandros interrupting her, contradicting her and speaking for her, his pretty words appeal to the Weatherhills. They don't deserve to be painted as glorious martyrs, but it is incredibly effective.
By the time Zandros turns his attention back to her, Isidor has fully regained her stoicism. She stares at him with all the judgment of a disapproving and irritated wife, letting the silence hang in the air as she looks to the Weatherhills and then back to Zandros.
"Fine," she says eventually. "I will permit it. As long as it does not consume extra rations."