"Does that make me a terrible beau then, to encourage such tendencies?" He asks, unable to keep himself from laughing a bit at the thought. Both places where they're from would do more than frown on such behavior; they'd try and stamp it out. Or shoot it out, if they were in Paris. Marius, for all his romanticism and otherwise quiet ways, still holds onto some of the fervor from the barricades. Perhaps, if he had remained in Paris, such fervor would have cooled out by now. But Darrow, perhaps because of Rat, seems a different sort of story.

"You're right, I shouldn't tempt fate," he says, guessing at the meaning behind Rat shaking his head and pointing at him. It hardly keeps him from grinning, or from saying his next words. "Next thing you'll know, we'll have an army of Tiffany Charlotte zombies, or something."

"A spirit with a cat with a large, mashed-in face," he muses. "Sounds like something out of Poe."