Gently spoken, maybe, but still rises easy defense in the older of the two -- kind of like putting your hand out to the coyote at the edges of the flame light will only send it scampering away. There is silvery malicious suspicion in the glance the younger of them get. "Indeed? Before being driven to thievery, I could have taken charity sooner? Such reassurance--"

He sets down his tea harder than he means to by the time his voice gains growl on emphasis -- it doesn't break, at least, but the hot, aromatic liquid spills over the side to flood saucer, Lucius jerking his hand up and away as if that small crack of physical temper had startled himself.

Rather than look at the other man, he sets about inspecting his palm, cleaning it off with the other as if nothing happened.