[He flicks a glance sideways, catching her scowl before it dissolves.]

Then you should know not to expect that which you wish to hear. If it is honeyed praises that you want, then go –- [he gives a dismissive sweep of his arm] -- and find yourself one of many others all too eager to feed you to complacency.

[Dusting his gloves of wood chips, he rises smoothly from his crouch, tugging his thick, snow-dusted cape loose at the throat. He drifts towards his desk chair, drapes it neatly over the back to dry, and then stands a moment, thinking, before he glances over his shoulder and regards her neutrally.]