[ Damn, the one time he doesn't immediately make his escape. Lark leans away a little, as if being flashed something he shouldn't be looking at— his job is to deliver mail, after all, and that job comes with the trust that he neither peeks at or tamper with anything he carries. ]
I... No. [ Despite not wanting to look, however, he has to lean in and squint at the letters himself. ]
no subject
I... No. [ Despite not wanting to look, however, he has to lean in and squint at the letters himself. ]
...I do not understand this language.