[So unsubtle that it warrants an eye roll, the fly on sticky paper thrash of a person objecting to being caught in the edge of Bastien's gooey affections or to being caught in proximity to some emotion far stupider than annoyance. Papers restored to something like order, her hand automatically drifts back to fetch the pencil from behind her ear as if to make a further scratch amidst her notes.]

See, there. All is resolved. And all it required was to afford me some credit [(the far stupider emotion is the rising sting of frustration pricking at the backs of her eyes, which she blinks back and instead makes a small mark on the schematic)] that I wouldn't purposefully chose to be beastly. So if that is all you wished to discuss, Monsieur—