[He pops something that looks like battered shrimp into his mouth. Something recognizable at least in this place, is enough for him.
She doesn't know the meaning of the flower, surely, but the choice is suspect in his mind regardless. It's too perfect a coincidence given all the strange similarities they share. He knows she's seen dark, terrible things. Horror sings in her, soft and lachrymose and he looks upon it like a brother. No stranger, he, to horror. Or loss.
He turns the plate on his hand that she may be proffered a small blackberry tart.]
no subject
She doesn't know the meaning of the flower, surely, but the choice is suspect in his mind regardless. It's too perfect a coincidence given all the strange similarities they share. He knows she's seen dark, terrible things. Horror sings in her, soft and lachrymose and he looks upon it like a brother. No stranger, he, to horror. Or loss.
He turns the plate on his hand that she may be proffered a small blackberry tart.]
Used as an offering to the dead in ancient Rome.