[He blinks in surprise, before looking down at her with an uncertain expression. Those weren't words he expected to hear; a sentiment he expected to have expressed, especially from someone he doesn't know. From a child, as well? Karl isn't quite sure what it's like to be one, having not spent little time with the children of his village aside from his oldest friend, and when his own mentality as a child feels so distant.
... She really is a kind girl, isn't she? He can't remember if he's ever had this kind of innocence, and if he did, he's long since lost it. Such is growing up, he supposes—or such is facing the truth.
He smiles down at her, and softly:]
I'm not bothered by what they say. Don't worry.
[Is it the truth, or is it a lie? He's lied to himself so many times that he can't always tell. If nothing else, again, he doesn't consciously mind.
When she draws attention to the windows, he looks out as requested.]
Ah, good idea. Let's do that, shall we?
[It'd be nice if it's that simple. He can hope, at least.]
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... She really is a kind girl, isn't she? He can't remember if he's ever had this kind of innocence, and if he did, he's long since lost it. Such is growing up, he supposes—or such is facing the truth.
He smiles down at her, and softly:]
I'm not bothered by what they say. Don't worry.
[Is it the truth, or is it a lie? He's lied to himself so many times that he can't always tell. If nothing else, again, he doesn't consciously mind.
When she draws attention to the windows, he looks out as requested.]
Ah, good idea. Let's do that, shall we?
[It'd be nice if it's that simple. He can hope, at least.]