very young, yet unmistakably aged

Modesty could very well imagine this boy had a habit of dragging storm clouds around in his wake wherever he went, and she couldn't help but find the name 'Dread' to be quite fitting. It was a different sort of storm than her daughter bought. She couldn't help but think the poor boy still didn't seem to have a clue what he was getting himself into. “Certainly, I can make us some tea.” The tea might have some traces of psychotropics, but did she have to tell him that before it was in front of him? Or even then? He looked like he could use some loosening up.

She led Dread into what once might have been a reception area, off the main foyer, now cleaned up and lined with furs and nick nacks, including her tea set and a fresh tray of food. She gestured towards the furs indicating he should take a seat as she set about getting refreshments organised. Jael had already stoked the fires and set the water to warm (probably expecting she would be due a tea any minute), and Modesty sent up silent, if belligerent thanks for the presence of the other woman in their lives. She set the blend of herbs to steep in the already warmed water and got them some snacks to partake in while they had their tea. “I'm glad to hear Wake is making attempts to be useful...” Even if she wasn't quite sure that had been the case. “But we can discuss the treehouse after, you seem like you have something specific on your mind.” She pottered around making sure everything was as it should be before joining Dread on the furs. She poured out the tea and took a sip of her own, as if to prove it wasn't poisoned (not much, not really). He had been born in the Armada after all, she was sure there were a lot of tall tales getting around about how awful the Raiders were before he saw with his own two eyes.

She sighed contentedly and looked at the boy patiently, leaving the floor open for him to spit out whatever was ailing him.

“Speech.”