The lack of answer of the last is noted, but left unpursued. It might not have been in years past, but Alexandrie is no longer a woman interested in casually digging into what may very well be graves.

"The pastry dough here is atrocious no matter what it is wrapped around," she responds with a brief raise of her gaze towards the heavens and a small shake of her head as she takes a rather generous mouthful of wine. Despite the quality, she is not in the business of savoring tonight. "As far as the sea," she continues a bit more wistfully, leaning her head on a hand curled much as Fifi's was and swirling the glass to in part mimic its waves, "it has more of the ocean in it here. A hint of wildness. It is a fine blue, but the ocean brings some of its darkness with its tides. I mourn that you were largely unable to see the colour of it at home."

Lexie says the word easily enough, but home is a more complicated concept these days.