Obieth glanced to Aethril at the suggestion, or permission, or whatever it might be. She then looked to Worm. Her demeanor was that of detached, almost maternal amusement; she felt little love or empathy for this stranger, but no malice either, and his apparent nerves were... quaint.
She stood and stretched a little as she spoke, neck arching, black velvet coat rippling. Her voice was deep, husky, even though cigarettes most certainly weren't a thing in the caves.
It didn't seem to occur to her that a freshly hatched kitten might not know all the words she was using; she seemed unconcerned, overly relaxed, even languid in her mannerisms.
@Aethril