[What a dreadful set of questions. Bastien might have eventually been dissuaded from them—he is such an agreeable sort of companion—, or at the very least may have been happy to satisfy his curiosity in some later hour (which, maybe, would simply fail to ever produce itself! Who can say how long they will or will not be in the city!) on his own. But Valentine de Foncé is another story all together. Better to simply take the bullet directly between the eyes than to be subject to every little relentless barb produced by his unsatisfied curiosity for the duration of the next Age.]

Which does beg the question as to what you're doing here at all, Valentine. Surely there are more reputable neighborhoods for you to have chosen to explore.

[Which isn't an answer to either of his questions. But maybe— Yes, in fact it's entirely possible that the answer is that no, they are not visiting anyone at all. And so maybe she's saving her answer for

when she has gotten far enough along to spy the open third floor window of a particular terrace house. She stops abruptly. And then lurches glumly forward again, the pause's duration having only been long enough to shorten the distance of her lead.]

You must say that you are [what, exactly? What is a reasonable story? After a moment's stalled consideration, Wysteria makes a frustrated noise and lengthens her stride.] Oh, I don't care what you say you are. It hardly makes any difference.