...So okay, Ulster isn't a place he's ever heard of; it's pretty safe to say that they're nowhere near each other, land-wise.
But the thought's still touching, there's no denying that.
"I don't think we are from the sounds of it...But it sounds like a place I'd like to visit all the same, thank you. And if you ever get to come to Altea, you'll get as much fresh food as we can grow for you! ...Mostly potatoes, but they're good potatoes. My little brother would probably really like to have someone around his age come over too--"

By Naga, someone has a pair of lungs on him. Gordin winces, shrinking under the dozens of gazes suddenly turned onto them. It takes a few seconds for him to stop nervously smiling and trying to apologise before he realises that to hell with that simpering polite noise.

He needs to find his bow, and Cu Chulainn definitely got the attention of everyone around them. Why the hell is that anything to be ashamed of? Steeling himself, he shoots his blessedly loud little companion a grateful smile before singling out a woman with an excessively large handbag.

"Er, yes! Hi, hello-- Um, yes we're looking for a bow; the shooting kind, not the ribbon kind. Have you seen one?"