“Oh,” Falke replies to the revelation, clearly momentarily taken aback and trying to reconcile the age of this young woman with the apparent age of Ronin.
Perhaps he’s not as up to date with what’s going on in Stormbreak as he thinks he is.
And perhaps an explanation will come later, when it isn’t blatantly rude to ask either of them.
“Ah, yes. In a way. I’m here to do a random mental health check. We’ve had Dragoons in the past who were unsuited to the position and found it’s easier to try and get ahead of any problems with some easy screening.” Looking back out towards the circling recruits in the rain, the Fixer is in agreement with her astute observation and takes a seat on a covered box, waving away the offer for the sitting room. He knows those chairs pale in comparison to his office chair.
But he is not quite so dextrous with his cane and it falls against another item in the area, hitting one of the buttons that makes it expand hard enough, so that the shortened thing is now a useable size and Falke blushes a bit at his clumsiness. “Ah. Oops. Sorry.”
