[ She can glare at him all day, if she likes. He's used to that, whether it be some Templar's helmeted stare, or just Velanna, sticking her imaginary daggers in the back of his neck as they hike along through the Wending Wood. Besides, it's not like they're in the most hospitable situation, to begin with. Here, or just in general. If she wants to have an attitude over nothing, he'd be the first to give her that as a right. Let alone over all of these perfectly legitimate grievances.

It's the pointed stare he likes less, shirking away from the obligation to answer, and answer honestly, as he steps around the table the other way, circling to the side. His gaze also skitters off, as if there's some other sight to be seen, here, some other choice in this game than to play.

Of course, there is one, and one he would seize on gladly - if it didn't mean maybe dragging her along with him. Friendly she may not be, but she hasn't wronged him, and he's well accustomed to dealing with prickly types, anyway. She doesn't deserve to sort his bad luck, too. ]

Is there a punishment worse than obeying?

[ His whole demeanor continues to hedge away from the honesty in his response, but he can't really mask it in his tone. ]

I don't know about you, but I'm not anybody's pet experiment. If they want to torment me, they can do the work themselves.

[ Some of the wind goes out of his sails, then, and with the obvious conundrum at hand to present, he glances back toward her, hands at his sides in a weak approximation of a shrug. ]

...But, uh, that's not exactly a choice I can make for both of us. If you think you have to do it, then I'm not going to try and stop you.