Eating had never been one of Logan's strong suits, but it had become harder after the paranoia had set in. Reluctance to give people another way to remove him from the throne was a perfect excuse to eat less. No one, not even him, had thought to rectify that after his removal. It wasn't important in the grand scheme of things.
He does, however, eat a little, bit by bit, while Sofia ponders and speaks. It gives him something to do while he listens.
It stops him from remarking that having people to protect is nicer when those people don't want you dead. The comment isn't necessary. He doesn't blame his people, even if he is frustrated by them.
He nods at her warning and sips his wine as she moves to practical matters. She truly does want to eke out any bit of information she can.
"A bag is adequate," he tells her. There's no need to keep that much information hidden. Plenty of things for in a bag. It doesn't narrow things down for her much. "Unless there's something in Gotham that I'm currently unaware of. Anything I know about can be stored in a bag."
Sofia’s eyes flick to his hands, to the careful way he eats like each bite is a decision. A bag. Portable. That narrows it enough to be annoying.
She thinks of Carmine again, of ledgers and keys and little objects that ruined lives more efficiently than any gun. She thinks of Arkham and how small things could still mean a locked door, a missing privilege, a week of pain.
Out loud, she stays mannerly.
“Because bags get lost,” Sofia says, and cuts her lamb with quiet precision. “Bags get stolen. Bags get swapped by someone who smiles the whole time.”
She lifts her glass, makes a little gesture and sets it down.
“And because if it fits in a bag, it fits in a coat pocket,” Sofia adds. “Which means it fits in a waiter, or a cop, or a man brushing past you on the sidewalk.”
Her gaze stays steady on him. “If you want quiet, you need boring. You need to look like you are carrying nothing worth taking.”
She dabs her mouth, then gestures lightly toward his plate, hostess again. “Eat a little more. You can be paranoid and still be functional.”
Then she lets the edge back in. “So tell me what kind of bag. Normal leather, or something you would notice if it was touched.”
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no subject
He does, however, eat a little, bit by bit, while Sofia ponders and speaks. It gives him something to do while he listens.
It stops him from remarking that having people to protect is nicer when those people don't want you dead. The comment isn't necessary. He doesn't blame his people, even if he is frustrated by them.
He nods at her warning and sips his wine as she moves to practical matters. She truly does want to eke out any bit of information she can.
"A bag is adequate," he tells her. There's no need to keep that much information hidden. Plenty of things for in a bag. It doesn't narrow things down for her much. "Unless there's something in Gotham that I'm currently unaware of. Anything I know about can be stored in a bag."
Another sip of wine. "Why do you ask?"
no subject
She thinks of Carmine again, of ledgers and keys and little objects that ruined lives more efficiently than any gun. She thinks of Arkham and how small things could still mean a locked door, a missing privilege, a week of pain.
Out loud, she stays mannerly.
“Because bags get lost,” Sofia says, and cuts her lamb with quiet precision. “Bags get stolen. Bags get swapped by someone who smiles the whole time.”
She lifts her glass, makes a little gesture and sets it down.
“And because if it fits in a bag, it fits in a coat pocket,” Sofia adds. “Which means it fits in a waiter, or a cop, or a man brushing past you on the sidewalk.”
Her gaze stays steady on him. “If you want quiet, you need boring. You need to look like you are carrying nothing worth taking.”
She dabs her mouth, then gestures lightly toward his plate, hostess again. “Eat a little more. You can be paranoid and still be functional.”
Then she lets the edge back in. “So tell me what kind of bag. Normal leather, or something you would notice if it was touched.”