"Not a suspected terrorist," Theodore corrected her quickly, looking alarmed and glancing around him quickly, just in case anyone had heard. There were easier ways of getting kicked out of a cafe -- but not many. He also didn't want her resting in the assumption that he'd done anything to warrant a brand. He may have had a zealous father, whose sentiments he might have appreciated once upon a time, but his own beliefs, and his own actions, were exponentially tamer. "If I were, I don't know that I would have come out with you. My father, however, was made one after his death, so I bear the stigma of his 'Family.'" They were difficult words to chew out. He didn't consider being a Nott a stigma, but the actions of his bloodline had been passed down, and he was paying for them nonetheless.
He sipped his wine again before setting it back on the table, fingers rubbing across the glass foot of his glass. "And yes. It can get quite lonely. Thank you for asking me."