Dolce could take the card. The kitchens were busy, but not so busy that he could not snatch up a card and set it someplace safe before his next check of the ovens. He does not intend to deceive her into thinking he can’t. The thing is, after wanting so powerfully to approach the Housekeeper, the card lies before him and his heart is...puzzled. Undecided. 

Wondering.

So it falls to Vasilia, his faithful second, to glide from her post around the non-flammables to intercept. Which she does, with a perfectly gracious smile, and a formal lack of card-taking. “We wouldn’t want to impose upon your busy schedule. Especially after you’ve soiled the broth and stolen the pastries that were meant for the Satrap’s table. Our Captain will need time to replace them, and her lunch will be inexcusably late due to your carelessness. Or should I say, your sabotage? Your lack of patriotism? Oh well, I’m certain they’ll figure out the difference in the inquiry.” Her smile is loaded. And aimed square between the good senator’s eyes. “That’s how you work around here, yes?”

The language ought to be familiar to Thist. Neither of them speak it as their native tongue; none truly do. But those who walk the halls of power with confidence and full purses do well to learn it fast.

“Seeing how the Satrap will be so famished,” she continues, unperturbed. “She won’t be able to get to the matter of the Housekeeper for some time, you may as well stay and chat. Surely you didn’t wander so far from your station just to inspect the kitchens, no?”