It's not often that someone so boldly speaks so contemptuously of the iudex; Monsieur Neuvillette has enjoyed a rather favorable opinion among the people of Fontaine for many years now, and for Hugo to do the opposite so blatantly sticks out to her like a sore thumb. Even she, who can not sincerely say that she has always thought of the iudex positively, acknowledges that there was always some sort of respect that he commanded of the room. Oh, there were days where she could not stand to be within the same vicinity, where her control over her emotions were tenuous at best, but she never quite forgot who it was she was dealing with. Hugo, on the other hand, speaks as if he could frankly care less. Navia holds her tongue, however, for she can't quite argue against the snide remark he makes. She's been close enough to see for herself that Neuvillette is still human with a heart what trembles so much as anyone utters a word about a certain young woman who masqueraded as an archon for over five hundred years. (That is, if he doesn't mention her first.)
Navia can hardly hide the blank surprise that envelopes her features. Blue eyes widen at the peculiar sight of a goose comes waddling out from the same direction she had heard the earlier ruckus. Her companions at her sides are all immediately on alert at the movement, bless them, jumping to their feet and staring down the winged creature. ❝ Come on now, we don't want to scare Monsieur Hugo's... pet. ❞ She insists, raising her hand to bar her subordinates from intimidating the bird any further. The flap of his wings does nothing to ease her men's nerves, and she can only mentally shake her head at them. There are far more pressing matters than an excitable goose. (Who has very cute little orange feet...)
At a complete contrast with the masked man, she refuses to sit. Not yet, at least. Her eyes are drawn to the thud of his boots upon the table, her features carefully blank. Navia knows she is at the mercy of his word, instincts telling her not to believe him right away. After all, how can one trust another who chooses to hide his face from the world? However... there must be some redeeming qualities to this man. To speak so warmly to animal and clearly care for it as he does means that he can not be so terrible as his reputation has made him out to be. Ruthless, sure, but with the ability to be honest... when he chooses, perhaps. Navia sighs, cautiously, carefully, finally taking a seat across from him.
❝ Thank you, we are attempting to rebuild as quickly as we can. ❞ She does not trust him, not fully, but there is little else she can do but take his word for it. Her eyes light up at the mention of potential leads, leaning forward with interest. ❝ What can we offer in exchange for names? Relevant information? ❞ Navia is open to negotiation, golden brows rising at the mention of the fortress. That will be tricky. The Spina has respected the status quo of her father's time, infiltrating the fortress to a minimum and only when absolutely necessary; Wriothesley being aware of their presence as well. Her brow furrows a bit at the mention of her connection to him. It is not so outwardly public, the personal relationship that exists between the two of them. At least, when they are seen together, very few know that it is actually the Duke of Meropide that she's with and besotted with. It has been an unexpected bit of privacy they've come to enjoy. She does not like the implication Hugo wishes to use that personal connection to their advantage, a roar of protective emotions arising at the mere mention of it. The Spina might be able to handle this on their own without involvement of her——.
Again, a rush of movement, muskets drawn and aimed directly at the seed of chaos in their midst. Silver and Melus would not be so hasty, but her new companions are still fresh, and fiercely protective. Outbursts follow, not taking this insult to the departed Clementine nor the current president.
Navia presses her lips together into a thin line, her hands gripping each other tightly on her lap, in anger that is born of offence. How. Dare. He.
❝ I would kindly suggest that you keep any mention of my mother out of your mouth. ❞ Navia replies tersely, her features shifting as she openly glares at him. ❝ Fail to do so, and my following action will not be so kind.❞ She could care less about the implications aimed at herself, but to dare to speak that way of her mother, the woman she always wished she had known, is where she strictly draws the line. Her mother was impartial, fair, a member of the Spina in her own right, her personal relationship to her father was nothing like what he implies. Navia motions for her men to stand down, and their muskets are cautiously lowered. Unhappily so, but they heed her orders. ❝ Let us return to the true matter at hand, unless you wish to be taught a proper lesson in etiquette. ❞ She doesn't bother veiling the threat.
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