"Ah," He squints, points with the end of a pinky (hands occupied with a knife, some sort of root). J — ah. That's what she means. Well, still better than Ilias. "I hope."

"Protects against hexes, or so my mother used to say." If she said any such thing, he doesn't recall. Seems doubtful; Hawthorn trees don't grow in tenements. "Planning a bouquet?"

His manner's breezy. Athessa is pleasant enough company, and she hasn't broken anything yet.