Her tongue runs over her teeth. Lefty tilts her head, a little, and meets Sirius' gaze.
"As you shouldn't. The Armada is here, my family isn't. If they showed up--well. Let me phrase this delicately: my father took me to the scene of a slaughter as a youth." Nostrils flared.
"I was ... young. Still at my mother's milk, then." Her tone had been friendly before, and still is now, but there's something there, something a bit... subdued, thinking about this.
"Those are the lessons I grew up under. I'd rather remain here, with the Armada." A slight glimpse at what had been, elsewhere. A deliberate showing that she had her very good reasons for being willing to turn her back on the family. "It is better to be judged by merit, anyhow." That, at least, was honest. Not that she had lied, but -- the relief in that tone could not be hidden.
Lefty exhales. "This is preferable." Lefty wondered, then, if Sirius knew the weight of noble blood. He seemed as if he might, but she wasn't sure. She could always tell him more later.
"Speech"
