Washed away

The slight narrowing of his eyes flickered for a moment as she continued to call him lord but with his name. Unworthy? They really must have done a real number on her. This won't do! Everyone mattered here, and she'll be one of them! She didn't meet his eyes like Ignita would, he should probably stop comparing the two... They seem to be two completely different types entirely.

Service? He tried not to show his confusion as he tried to parce her words together into something meaningful to him. She was lying in a bed already was it uncomfortabl- suddenly it dawned on him and he nearly dropped the bowl with his paws and coughed. Oh stars no. Nope, no. No. He was still just on the cusp of believing all girls had cooties. He was by no means interested in cooties.

A flutter of ivory wings came to his rescue. She flew in from the window and dropped a rat down on the floor then swooped her way out.
"Ah, Eterna! Thank you!" The white raven sang back to him from a branch outside. She hopped over the leaves and peered back into the window at his patient within, her brilliant sapphire eyes aglow with intelligence and curiosity.

"This is for you." He picked up the meal and placed it in front of her. His stoic mask slipped for just a moment. He had been raised and intensely cared for by the gentlest parents of the Armada. He didn't know how long he could keep this up if she kept throwing him for loops like that.

"Now-" He turned back to his paste and away from the slave. He raised his eyebrows at the wall for a moment trying to compose himself, and reset his mask again as he picked up a bowl and ladled the tea into it.

"Now-" He tried again, yes he repeated himself, placing the bowl within her reach, "I won't be called lord anything. Just Oleander. You may call Basilsk Lord though, he is the Warlord. You are in the territory of The Armada. I will be the Trauma Specialist. - It's not hot or cold, should be a bit sweet -" He interrupted himself to help her attention on the tea.

"How'd you come by getting eaten by a bear?" Despite his lanky figure, he was pure muscle. Behind him, on a wall, his polar bear skull helmet and thick fur cape hung within reach. A long scar ran over one of his shoulders and his ribs from the claw of the tiger that she was now lying on. Maybe he was a little awkward and generally a little to nice to be a slaver, but he would be a quick and formidable opponent. As she was probably well aware.

"Speech"