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[deuceoftears]

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[pharadyne]

[That is the face of a schoolmaster who can't believe Norton declared that Paradise Lost was written by Alexander Pope. The wordless "My soul withered in despair a little bit at what you just said. Try again." It makes Norton curl in on himself sheepishly.]

I'll go and...sufficiently establish that then.

[deuceoftears]

[Jedao gentles almost immediately at the sheepishness, satisfied that Norton has stopped wriggling long enough to take on the idea. And, purely because it's also his own natural idiom, he puts it into the language of espionage instead of, like, modern lingo or touchy feelings.]

Good.

You're the contact point. That means you need to have the right intel.

Cheers, darling.

[pharadyne]

[Thinking of it like an intelligence mission makes it feel ever so less awkward than thinking of it as arranging a talk about feelings.]

Ta, sweetheart.