He grinned, lifting hands to intertwine fingers beneath his chin while he leaned in on them. That was a sentiment he could get behind, being that more often than not, it was all he had ever had to go on in his small apartment back in the city. The stove was his heater and the window his cooling unit unless he chose to step into the ice room where bodies were kept.

"They were what all nobles are." In a few words, of course, but he could remember more, so much more. "His mother, I saw her less than I saw any of them, but she was a lovely woman, delicate and sweet, but sharp as a whip. His father was her strength and just as gentle as he was firm." The watchdog side of Vincent was far different, almost night to the Earl's day, but he held as much back. Some things didn't yet need to be told.

The story told reminded him of street urchins he had seen in alleys and in the main shopping squares in the city. Those poor children ended up in his parlor more often than not, eventually, having had no one to defend them against the cruelty of the world and no one to stand up for them when they were caught thieving to stay alive. He had watched it all quietly, simply observing, taking no side. It made him wonder what kind of world Jason had known, how much worse it was like on his own streets. "You were one of the lucky ones," he commented and didn't bother to elaborate.