[She starts screwing around with the little scrap of fabric at his throat when his ears go back, raking her pointy little fingers gently over his shoulder. Not enough to scratch the carapace, but enough that it makes a very soft, rhythmic sound.]
I think you do.
[Her tone lowers, until she's basically whispering, her voice husky and punctuated by the sound of her fingers dragging along his shell.]
Look at how disgusting they are. Is it fair, Jack, that we must endure such insults? You've killed monarchs, Jack. Sovereign Slayer. And now they parade this pond scum in front of you? How dare they.