“Oh,” Astrid says, and in that mellow haze of the akvavit making her contemplative, her brow furrows. Trying to wrap her mind around the rank and duty and obligations of being a capital-L Lady beyond the fruit spoons; things she hasn’t ever had to worry about, herself.

“When my little brother was born, there wasn’t anything he could take from me, besides all my toys which I didn’t want anymore by then, anyway. He could be annoying but, like, in a way that didn’t change my life much.” She picks out the sprig of green from her drink, flicks it off into the sands. She has a suspicion that if her voice goes too soft and sympathetic, Vega might bite her hand off, so she keeps it straightforward and matter-of-fact:

“Sorry your parents were shitbags about it.”