There's a slight smile at the agreement, just from the mental image. Clara, of all people, trying to play up the horror story ghost. The woman who seems incapable of anything except positive thinking. Add on the fact the kids would buy the terrible act as legitimate. It's perfect.
Though the smile falls off at the unsaid question with, "Doyle's a hack."
It's distracted, because there's no way to properly answer it. It's a very precise line of separation; defined by the coat and gloves and the heartless monster act. A difference between a surname and a title, a person and a concept, but mostly importantly it was that one defined rule. Keep business and home as far apart as possible. It's a compartmentalizing that works perfectly.
Up until moments like this. Where it'd be easy to refuse to answer, except it's Clara. She's a good person. He's legitimately fond of her. Dodging the question is unacceptable, and it always just felt wrong to lie to her.
"Fifty quid. Investigate the headstones in question for supernatural activity; observation, resolution, file report. Low threat level, priority dispatch unnecessary." The entire statement is more directed to her husband's headstone than to Clara, with a specific brand of monotone she's never encountered before. It might be just frigid enough to match the cold air she leaves with her tricks, "Rather standard procedure.
"I've been trying to clear the more ridiculous backlog. This one, it's obviously just a visitor, but it's paranoia layered on top of the yearly notion that you have something to do with the disappearing kids. Except that's obviously the Fae. Only idiots like Them would keep thinking otherwise."
It's brittle and unfeeling and could almost be confused for an entirely different person. But more importantly, gives enough context clues for Clara to answer her own unasked question.
they're good woof best friends 4am alarm clocks is what they do
Though the smile falls off at the unsaid question with, "Doyle's a hack."
It's distracted, because there's no way to properly answer it. It's a very precise line of separation; defined by the coat and gloves and the heartless monster act. A difference between a surname and a title, a person and a concept, but mostly importantly it was that one defined rule. Keep business and home as far apart as possible. It's a compartmentalizing that works perfectly.
Up until moments like this. Where it'd be easy to refuse to answer, except it's Clara. She's a good person. He's legitimately fond of her. Dodging the question is unacceptable, and it always just felt wrong to lie to her.
"Fifty quid. Investigate the headstones in question for supernatural activity; observation, resolution, file report. Low threat level, priority dispatch unnecessary." The entire statement is more directed to her husband's headstone than to Clara, with a specific brand of monotone she's never encountered before. It might be just frigid enough to match the cold air she leaves with her tricks, "Rather standard procedure.
"I've been trying to clear the more ridiculous backlog. This one, it's obviously just a visitor, but it's paranoia layered on top of the yearly notion that you have something to do with the disappearing kids. Except that's obviously the Fae. Only idiots like Them would keep thinking otherwise."
It's brittle and unfeeling and could almost be confused for an entirely different person. But more importantly, gives enough context clues for Clara to answer her own unasked question.