Of course not, m'lady. That would be silly...dangerous even. You're not interested in love, and I am incapable of such an emotion. You wouldn't want me to love you.

[It's spoken in irony, a mocking challenge to the truth of the situation. Yet there is a hint of disappointment in his tone, but he brushes it aside with a...kind smile. He doesn't want to say it; that is dangerous for him. Showing her, however, is much safer. It is up to interpretation that way.

He relinquishes Leblanc from his grip in favour to dislodge the decorative armor and straps from his torso, hands moving in an easy, flowing motion. Their attachments are intricate and he can nagivate out of them in his sleep.

The outerwear falls to the floor, kicking up dust on impact. It is so much more comfortable wearing just a shirt now, in the humid desert heat.]