As they all start to talk, Rosemary takes her wife's hand with a gentle squeeze, and rests her other hand on top for that extra measure of reassurance. She listens and watches for the moment, looking between the nephews for signs how they're doing, too. There's affection available for all, for all she suspects that if she offered Benjiro a hug at this time, the poor lad might just start crying - or reject it, until they've heard his piece. They might need the extra distance of the table between them, to have this conversation at all.

"Neither of us are," Russell chimes in, now that the conversation is shifting from Benjiro's actions - which he can't particularly help explain - to the context of them. He glances away long enough to tuch his kit onto another chair, freeing up his hands to gesture as he talks. "There's something... going on, and we don't know very much about it, but it's altogether queer, and honestly a bit... magic, I think."

He can't help but roll his eyes at himself even as he says it. Both the aunts know his mother, the astrology devotee. Know her chattering on about what the stars have to say for everyone's lives, how she regularly flutters from extolling one type of spiritual knowledge to another, and how Russell has complained about it for years.