Katurian wrinkled his brow, frowning. In the course of the day, there had been people who liked his stories, certainly, but still others regarded him with speculation, distrust, disgust. This was usual. Expected. He still didn't like it. He didn't understand it so much either - was there really anything so awful about a fictional person dying a fictional (horrific, gruesome, gory, gratuitous-- okay) death?

"How do you mean, 'wrong crowd?' I don't force anyone to listen," he said. He did his best to sound calm and rational instead of defensive, and nearly succeeded. "They can leave, if they'd like."