She smiles at the story. A little tight around the eyes, a little sad. She doesn't have anything worth sharing from her own childhood.

Her posture has been performatively relaxed, ready to spring to action at any moment like a coiled wire, but seeing the way Tara melts into the affection... Something in her goes buttery soft. If this were a dangerous place, if his hands had ever hurt the tressym, there wouldn't be such easy trust.

So, she trusts.

"The acid," she starts and stops again. Runs her tongue over her teeth, weighing his story against her own. Considering how much to share to keep a fair trade. "It's a particular favorite of an ex-lover. He doesn't want me anymore, but can't stand that I might ever think of anything else. Sends me little reminders."

She tips her head, weighing the scales.

"And also, you can call me Harley."

There. Even.