"This revolution must have been a big deal," she looked between the two of them, trying to piece together the small amount of information she picked up in previous conversations, trying to see a bigger picture on how it all connected. But it felt like something was missing, her memory always more fuzzy when she tried too hard to recall the details. "Who was it against, exactly?" she asked, remembering Connor said he was forced to fight against his own people. But then who was his people and who were the others? Were Connor and Markus the same in some way? Their occupations were different. Was it a religious fight? Class? A fight over land and territory? There was an entire history full of men fighting battles and revolutions, and she supposed she'd never understand any of it. Didn't have to understand it, she was free.
If Markus was good at reading people, it worried her what he saw in her that made him draw away, shaking the feeling away in fear of bringing the mood down again. "In some ways it does, I suppose," Dolores considered what she had seen of the town so far. "It is much colder, and the roads much harder." Then she laughed lightly, "I haven't seen a lot of other towns or cities to really compare. In some ways, nowhere can really be the same as home." A home that she had chosen not to back to, despite all her waxing poetic of how wonderful a place it was. Because when she reached for that door, something warned her otherwise. Run, Dolores. Her fond smile didn't waver.