The woman rolls her eyes a little - comments to the effect of being well aware of that fact - but relaxes. She's greatly cheered by the Barrayaran Russian coming out of this newcomer's mouth.

Time for Miles to nudge things along. "Don't mind my little brother," he says, his own cheer an eerie echo of his younger self's, tinged with a wicked layer of sarcasm. "Not very bright. If we could trouble you for a little shelter and a bottle of mead, I would be much obliged. Take it out of my pay."

Another eyeroll at that. She's immune to both these small men's charms, thank you very much. But she knows the value of a second translator when she sees one, and soon enough they have chairs by the fire and a bottle between them.