[Gideon cannot be said to be well-versed in the picking up of social cues, nor how to respond accordingly. To say she's badly socialised is a monumental understatement. Left alone in a swift-decaying place with only ancient nuns and a few old military leaders too decrepit to fight any longer for company, people who's views on her varied from abject hatred to cool indifference, she hasn't exactly had much chance to practice. Still. There's something in the way his voice drops, in the tone with which he speaks, that has her pausing. She narrows her eyes at him, trying to discern what he's attempting to tell her with his quiet words, the odd stillness of them.

He'd said associates of my father. Which meant they were talking about his dear old dad. Parents who commit terrible acts are something she knows just a little about, even if the parents in question weren't her own. Finally something clicks in her, hot and sharp, and she affects a casual shrug.]

I guess people do all kinds of messed up things for reasons that make sense to them at them time. Like that.

[And she points back toward the taxidermied abomination, having gathered together enough of her sense to attempt a distraction.]

I mean, there are people in this world who go around defiling the bodies of deceased...whatever that thing is, for the fun of it. Now that's fucked up.