"They all are," Jone says, voice just short of sing-song. "Everyone who mattered, and everyone who didn't. And Videreyn saw fit not to lift even a finger, they, our closest allies, our brethren."

Abandoning manner for a moment, Jone takes a swift pull from her wineglass, and then finds herself recovered, shoulders settled, back straight.

"I have always had a fondness for capricorns. Pretty goats and bad omens, both. What was your inspiration?" She gestures to him, and quietly guesses functionality.