For a moment, Jayati regretted the question when she saw something in Alistair's face, her eyes, that said there was a deeper story here than merely I was good at it, I enjoy it well enough, I'm here that accompanied many people when it came to their professions. Really, she should have guessed. The older they became, the more baggage they hauled with them. Art also had that history of having a special sort of attachment to go along with it, though the closest Jayati had were Lalita's books.
Or her tattoos.
Most wonderous and awful things did start with a woman in her humble experience, or maybe she was simply biased. The roughened Sheriff gave her a small, sincere, understanding smile. Free of pity, "I heard once that if someone does something foolish once, it is simply because we are flawed. If they do it twice, it is usually because of a woman." It was a small bit of levity, masking that she didn't really think Alistair was likely foolish at all for giving into her curiosity, that she understood. That she didn't need to give more. Though there was something more beautiful about her in that moment, when she was likely remembering something soft, that made something else in her ache that she didn't want to look at too hard herself.
A quiet laugh was pulled from her at the thought of needing something stronger, as well as an almost grin at her tone, and her glass raised in a silent toast, "One of these days, when we have nowhere else to be or witness it, perhaps." It was an invitation that had no pressure or expectations, one of the best she responded to and the only kind she usually offered.
Ah, that did make sense. It was one of the things she always took with her, and likely only improved with age, "I don't think my mother imagined this for me the day I hatched, unfortunately none of my natural gifts are as lovely as yours." They were destructive. Fire and sulfur, claws and a temper only dulled by exhaustion, not morals or even extensive discipline.