A fond chuckle (a single short bark, plosive, felt in the upper shoulders); touché. Well played. He can respect the art of the strike. And yes, it's obvious the word 'bow' in particular leaves a here-very-literal sour taste in the mouth. “Theirs is a very tedious city, that I will grant.”

It's her turn to get a series of snapshots; less vague, but muddled with enough older memory they're their own sort of blurry – a table spread with black doilies and finger food (that's also several banquets and other soirees he was forced to attend, at least one of which the table seems comically tall, viewed from a child's perspective), a shotglass filled with something clear and fruity-smelling (that's also a lacquered cup of sake, and the words Yanxia is a dunghill before it empties), an amalgam of 'top ten most boring speeches Emperor Solus ever gave', spires that might be Achamoth or Babil. All drenched in overwhelming boredom. He's less adept at this than she is, by virtue of time-spent if nothing else, but in some ways that works to his favour here.

Pause. The sense of focus shifting from that montage back to her. “Should I insult you by asking where you are?”