[indent][indent][indent][color=silver][i]“[/i]𝓣[i]ea would be lovely.[/i] 𝓦[i]hy don't you go make some, [/i] 𝓦[i]hile Walter tells me about his week?”[/i][/color][/indent][/indent][/indent] “As you wish,” Finnegan said after a small split pause, mentally asphyxiated on his loss. Slightly bothered, he went through the usual litany of asking what type of tea she would like, and Lady Alyssana remained faithful to her usual stance in taste, much like the fashion she so boldly assumed, even during ballroom dances (that will come eventually in later chapters). After such a quaint conversation, the man left the room but not before making a quick glance at Walter, who in all of his manhood was still standing a bit too boyish in his burgundy suspenders, button down shirt, and a hand tucked into his darkish slacks. He followed Lady Alssyana into the laboratory, much like a puppy without his owner, “Oh…” His thoughts were still lingering on Christopher, and he decided not to prod. She would have addressed the question if it was meant to be said as opposed to being shuffled aside for her to... ...Seek revenge on Finnegan, “I beg your pardon?” Walter was in the middle of working his line of thankfulness while introducing the ins-and-outs of his week to her and found himself caught off guard, “I…” He looked around the laboratory, all the fragrances stirred momentarily, and his eyes marveled at all the things he was just beginning to learn. These things were merely just the beginnings of beginnings, which meant wholly nothing about what he was going to learn about his brother and most interestingly, he was finding out, his own self discovery. Drawing in a deep breath, he mustered up a puff of an answer, “A lot has happened in the past week.” His eyes continued gazing the laboratory. The last woman he had just encountered was Madame Sophronia, and Lady Alyssana, while still just as sharp if not sharper had the scowl of a lifetime that could send the most mixed messages of frightening confusion, he knew he ought to be less airheaded with her. Her question about Madamoiselle Evelyn was certainly something he wanted to avoid, but as the woman had proved to Finnegan, there was no skirt-tailing details, “Honestly, I think I have spent most of my time in here. I like it. There’s a lot of wonderful things to see and do, and there are far less people who come and ask silly or stupid questions,” he chuckled a little at his own interpretation of Finnegan’s interactions with customers, “As for Miss Ashton,” he tilted his head and tried to feign some happiness, even if sarcastic in nature to hide the following plea: [center][color=silver][i]“Must I say?”[/i][/color][/center] [center]. ❖ . [h3][i][sub][sub]And so begins[/sub][/sub][/i][/h3][sub]___________________________________________________________________________________________[/sub][h3][i][sup][sup]The First Dilemma of Lady Alssyana Grey[/sup][/sup][/i][/h3][/center]