Forgive me.

[It's murmured and genuinely contrite, gaze on Saracen. Of all the things these people are capable of, somehow it hasn't occurred that having someone speak in their heads might be somewhat beyond merely 'unexpected'; and Kratos is aware his emotions were not as leashed as he was attempting.

[He rouses himself with a shake of the head, and turns.]

I'm sorry for my rudeness, Mr Bespoke. Some tea would be appreciated, yes.