[ Neuvillette quickly places his palms against the sides of the ladle as the earth begins to tremble, preventing it from accidentally falling off the pottery wheel. His brow furrows slightly before smoothing out as the trembling subsides; something about this concerns him for reasons he can't articulate, but he pushes those thoughts aside for now. This is commonplace here, and he's only a tourist. This does not concern him. ]

I bought a few boxes of tea for Wriothesley, but I haven't sampled it myself. [ With the trembling having subsided, he begins to work on the other side fin, carefully shaping it with the tools provided. ]

Perhaps I'll go to this teahouse once my clay ladle is ready to be baked in the kiln.