An explanation at last, and Benedict is not as horrified by it as he may have expected. A quirk of his brow, and, "...would you like me to... put them in touch with you?"
Narrowing his eyes slightly, Benedict thinks on it.
"Tavane and Strange you can just ask, I think," he muses, "they're," motormouths, "open books. Orlov will need a lighter touch, but I think if you explain why you want to know...?" He shrugs a shoulder.
"Thank you," He isn't so sure. Strand has never been a delicate man, and Benedict's already proven easy to fluster. That isn't promising for his definition of light; shuffles Orlov to the bottom of the list. "You've been a great help."
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Benedict nods.
"Can I ask...?"
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More or less.
"Your people are safe, we'd know by now. But I need their accounts."
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"Tavane and Strange you can just ask, I think," he muses, "they're," motormouths, "open books. Orlov will need a lighter touch, but I think if you explain why you want to know...?" He shrugs a shoulder.
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"...is there anything else you need, before I leave you alone?"
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