[ He refuses the pastry with a small gesture, smiling his thanks. For all his thoughts of their similarities, Wriothesley can't help noticing how different they are, too--Lynette is polite as can be, softly spoken, but with a silent boundary about her that lends a quiet strength. She commands more respect than she might realize.

Naturally, their thoughts intersect with Lyney. All told, he'd rather not think about the boy right now--would ideally be enjoying a meal under the sunlight, listening to the low murmur of free people going about their daily lives--but there isn't any avoiding it. He approached her, anyhow, and he has a certain responsibility for these things--to let the ones left behind know how their loved ones are faring, to enlighten them where the opportunity arises. ]

Were it in my power, I'd recommend a reduction to his sentence. Your brother has been a model prisoner. If anything at all should change, I'll see to it that you're notified immediately.

[ For the most part, it's the truth: other than the... recent incident, Lyney has kept out of trouble and worked for his living. He does what he can not to shift uncomfortably in his seat, saved by a passing waiter who stops and takes his order. He'll just have a light lunch.

Once that's done with, he turns his attention back to her. ]

I'm sorry there isn't more I can do for him. I know it must be hard.