"Oh, that would be exceptional," says Susan, amusement flitting across her face. She doesn't care for the angel at all, but she can clearly picture a fussy little moue as he arranges a book to perfectly obscure - have angels got genitals? She shan't be asking!

She glances up at Sagramore again, taking another sip of her tea. Has he always been like this? Engaging, quick to laugh... easy? The other Sagramores she's met have been, of course, and so naturally she's wondered if she's just not noticed that same tendency in this one. Clearly there's something about him that attracts so very many people. She's recognized it, during her observations, even if she hasn't precisely understood it. But if he recalls his time as a teenager - if that truly was just his younger self - well. There's a through-line to the man he is now, and while she mightn't understand it in full, she gets the sense that perhaps they've not got on... not because they're so very different, as she thought previously, but because they're terribly similar in incompatible ways.

It bears reflection.

"I imagine Little John might do it for a laugh," she says, tone now thoughtful. She shan't be suggesting Enjolras or Apollo.