Deflection of responsibility. Rejection of fault. Amalia cannot say she is surprised by the Voice's easy denial of her part: it is always the way of such figures, such people, to slink away from any blame. Of course the being is misunderstood; of course she is misjudged, ultimately guiltless in this tableau. It is all the girl can do to keep from rolling her flinty eyes, a glare growing hot beneath her brows, ire rising once more in her breast.
Luckily Ronin is level headed, at least compared to the baker. Where she might stay to argue, to defend her gods, he clearly sees there is no reason in doing so. Swallowing her retort Amalia curtly nods, glancing at the guildmaster as he makes an obvious move to leave. She will not thank the Voice, but she will not belittle her further, either.
Stepping away with Ronin, the girl feels tension in every line of her figure, a shiver of displeasure and metallic taste at the whole encounter.
