Aeneas frowned a little. Or rather, his gaze fell to a point just past the sheathed claws on his front toes. If Jean hadn’t noticed by now, most of this alien’s communication was strictly through his eyes.
Well, through two of his eyes anyway.

“You as well,” Aeneas forced another crease into his lavender stare, “As for where I’m from…”

That was actually more of a tough question that Jean probably intended, and was what had caused him the original discerning glance at the floor. ”Should I tell her that I don’t know? Or would my current memories suffice?”

He hesitated.

”…Ah, current. No need to confuse her any more than she already is. Besides, if I keep up this ambiguity, she’ll just ask about it anyways.”
Not that Aeneas didn’t want her to ask—he simply didn’t like the idea of not having an answer for her.

“I was picked up from the planet Walrum.”

And then a question of his own slipped through his personal censor in the form of an abrupt growl.

“—Are we still nearby? The Awesonians are an innocent race, they don’t need to be involved in any of this. I would prefer if we keep them ignorant, at least until I return?”