[impatiently:] If you did, wouldn't I have asked at the start where your accent went? And if you're half the Inigo I knew, you'd have about as much luck charming someone as a soggy sock hung out to dry!

[the impatience gets to her feet and she starts to shift her stance, unconsciously moving out of that defensive posture as she faces some very familiar fussing. it's habit.]

The idea that your blood would be the be-all and end-all... You really are still you, aren't you. [not her brother, but certainly her friend.]