He opens his mouth again, pauses and winces a little helplessly. This is getting... difficult to manoeuvre.

"Murder is always illegal," he says finally, "no matter the social standing or... career choices, or... alliances of those involved."

His fingers flex thoughtfully, and his eyes dart around the gastropub. It's quiet, but it's not entirely empty. He takes a sip of his drink, giving himself time to think. He would guess that the only reason she's saying all this is her curse, to tell the truth -- or, more accurately, blurt it. It sits awkwardly with him, that she is compelled to do so and he can't really do anything to either alleviate it or make the situation more comfortable for her.

"Perhaps it's better," he begins cautiously, "that keep yourself a while, lest you... well, out yourself to the wrong person."