It was an odd, subtle sensation that washed over him, and Shiloh shrugged his shoulders in response, just a slight lift and fall. While not an empath, any Pilot would have been trained to recognize different kinds of psychic feedback, the better to guard oneself against a hostile. Reflexively, he prodded back and then relaxed; it was only Pavla.
He had paused a second when he felt it, but as she spoke, he went back to tying up the other kids. When he was done, he straightened back up, brushed his hands together as though clearing them of dust, and was about to respond when it sank in.
Is this acceptable, Cardinal Lockwood?
His lips parted and he stared at Pavla with raised eyebrows.
She, his superior by several ranks, was asking him. She was asking for his thoughts, trusting in his opinion, and not for the first time this mission! And she was doing it with the same deadpan voice and expression, not the slightest hint of irony or sarcasm or teasing. Just the same voice and expression she'd always used, without fluctuation.
Was that...respect? A Royal respected him? Him?
Color rushed to his cheeks unbidden and he cleared his throat and looked back to the kids he'd bound. He scratched at the back of his ear. "I, uh, er...yeah? I mean, yeah! Sounds good! Uh, acceptable!"
To give himself a distraction so he didn't yet have to look at her, and to give himself time to compose himself until he didn't sound so much like a backwater idiot, he hauled what he assumed was the "leader" of the gang (or at least, the kid with the gun) to his feet and shoved him forward. Goddamn. He'd spent so long getting insulted, he wasn't sure how to handle a compliment. Though, was that even a compliment? Not really. Not in actual words. But the fact that she trusted him sure as fuck felt like one.
He yanked the other criminals to their feet. "No funny moves, punkass. C'mon, get walkin'."
As he passed by Pavla, he paused and gave her a sympathetic look. By then, the blush had, thankfully, faded. "Erm, sorry 'bout yer nose, sir."