"How inspiring." Torin responded drily, careful to avoid coming across as insulting. Pretty as she was, he supposed it wasn't too surprising that she'd be every bit as indoctrinated as the rest of her ilk. Give her a few decades of fighting, though, and he was sure she'd open up, and become every bit as cynical and jaded as any other veteran warrior - that, or she'd retreat further into her bluster, and would become an outright holy terror, in which case Torin hoped he wouldn't find himself in her way.<br/><br/>"And you've come here seeking to find yourself? Well, I'm sure you'll be able to improvise something - we may not be the most sophisticated lot around here, but if there's something we're all good at, it's helping people find their true perspectives." He continued, a faint hint of dreary sarcasm lining his words. Criminals, vagabonds, outcasts . . . the crew of the<i>Fair Lady</i>were, essentially, scum, for the most part. And Torin himself, for all of his up-hive graces, was blunted by years of misuse, coupled with a long career as a generic footslogger. He could still spin a delicate phrase, but his demeanour had long since given way to a blend of cynical humour and pessimistic stubbornness. It was only really in moments like this, having a simple, friendly conversation, when he allowed himself to let go of his world-view - though, it should be noted, he was still keeping an eye on the Sister.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>