[Not too many people take a lot of stock in what Kieran has to say, and even fewer have treated his story with anything more than a nod of a head or a grunt in commiseration. Where he's from, with the crowds he's mixed with, everyone has their own personal tragedies. The thing is, trying to work through them or to understand the injustice of it all didn't do anything to keep supplies filled or get chores done, so nobody ever dwelled on these stories too much.]

[As such, he has no idea what to say or do when Ben reacts with pure compassion and empathy.]

N-No! No, it's--it's alright. No harm done, honest!

[Kieran stands up and places a hand (the other still holding that weird leather skirt) on Ben's arm in a desperate bid to help his buddy feel a little better. All he can figure right now is that it's a good thing he didn't go further into what happened during his time with the Van der Lindes. Specifically, how the O'Driscoll gang thought best to take their revenge on him.]

Look, uh, e-everything that happened. It's all in the past now. I-I ain't... it ain't...

[He sighs. He can't say it's okay. None of it was even remotely close to okay. Even when the blanket of Stockholm Syndrome began to wrap around his shoulders, Kieran knew deep down in his heart that the way he'd been tossed around and treated, especially by the Van der Lindes, was nothing short of unfair and cruel. But, he'd done what he could with it, making a living and making it known that he wasn't some commodity to be pushed around. He had worth, even if that worth came from cleaning tables and taking care of horses.]

I got friends here now. [He locks eyes with Ben, drilling that point home.] None of that other stuff matters to me 'cause of that. Everyone here, you've all treated me like I got somethin' to contribute. Like I a-ain't just some dumbass nervy feller who's only good fer horses and gettin' picked' on. You guys, y-you actually care.

And it, uh, it m-means a lot.