Log:Tea and Misery

Tea and Misery
And Edmond proceeds to turn 'tea' into pTsd.
Participants Edmond, Sterling	19 November 2017 You are cordially invited to tea, should you be willing and free, on November 19th at 1 pm ~ Sterling.
Location Rose Court Tenements - Reve d'Or Suite, FB12
When Edmond arrives, he'll be seen into the room - there are not really any "homely" touches to the apartment at current. It does appear to have the usual amount of things abounding, but whoever lives here isn't much of a decorator - it may, in fact, be why Sterling chose a mostly furnished apartment to begin with. The door to the bedroom is closed, so he can't really see what she's done in there, but there is the sounds of a TV faintly drifting through the closed door. Sterling herself is dressed nicely in a grey and cream ombre tea dress with a sweetheart neckline, pink roses covering the bodice and a pair of low boots on her feet. It's accented, subtly, with a garnet jewelry set. "Thank you for coming," she greets the Elemental, warmly, as she closes the door behind him. "I'm afraid I'm not the best cook - but I do like to think I have good taste." There is a delicious smell in the air. Edmond-- doesn't really have a vast wardrobe. His best option for dressing up, after his nicest non-overdressed shirt got actually legitimately ruined last night, is a white tie and tails-- and one does not wear evening dress in the afternoon. So, he did the best he could, and did the best he could after the night he had which was less than his usual best, and arrived punctually. When a Telluric visits a Telluric, anything else is unpardonable. He himself is wearing slightly weathered but pressed khakis, hiking boots, and a plain white oxford shirt with a navy-and-brown paisley bowtie and a brown buttoned waistcoat because of course he is. He doesn't actually have a blazer, so it's just his coat over it, which is an anorak, which is unfortunate. He is grateful that Sterling cannot see him flush when she's dressed so nicely and he's... not. Notably, he is also a little tense and trying to cover it. But he smiles gamely, and that at least is honest, as he's invited in. "Thank you for inviting me," he says, a little subdued, and he takes off his anorak and holds it uncertainly for a second. "Whatever you've made smells incredible," he offers, "and I'm really hungry--" Reaching out, Sterling goes to take Edmond's coat from him and hang it up on a rack meant for such things, near the door. There's another few coats there... including one that might look familiar to Edmond. It's a somewhat stiff-looking greatcoat, which the last time he saw it may have been made out of leather. Now, it does appear to be partially patchwork leather, woven through with ivy leaves and vines with a faintly silvery glow. Hedgespun, then, and not folded into a mask. "I didn't cook," Sterling says with something of an apologetic smile, gesturing for Edmond to accompany her further into the sitting room, and then on into the dining room. The table has been set out, with some lovely-looking raspberry scones accompanied with some lemon poppy ones. There's also a very vintage-looking tea set, beautifully made, but very British. "I'd only planned something small, but if you need more than pastries I can certainly oblige." First faux-pas of the day! Edmond laughs, and tries to sound composed and genial and witty and charming as he waves a hand and directly negates what he said last. "Really hungry was an exaggeration, I assure you. It just smells so good-- which does, in fact, prove your taste is impeccable." He's embarrassed. He's ill-at-ease. He has no reason to be, but there it is. He feels like a sham, and he's trying so hard to cover it. His eyes trail over the hedgespun with interest, distracting him momentarily, and he relaxes very slightly. "That's much prettier than it was, Doctor Plague," he says with a wry sort of shyness, and wanders after her and tries not to crack his wooden knuckles or fuss visibly with his clothes. He pulls off a 'straighten the waistcoat' but that's about all he can get away with, and then he sees tea laid out, and the smile's even more fragile. "May I use your bathroom?" Sterling looks over Edmond curiously, investigating him head to toe for a moment. Whatever she seems to find, however, isn't immediately revealed however as she stops next to the table with her fingers touching the top of it. Whisps of nebular, black hair trail across her face like fleeting clouds across the moon, luminous eyes set on the Elemental. "Of course. Don't mind Ferrum, he does not bite or anything. Not when well-fed. He won't bother you any." Moving then, she trails across the room over towards the bedroom, opening the door for Edmond to pass through if he wishes. Looking in there, he'd notice something - about half the room has been taken up by an enormous, glass terrarium which has a large sunning stone in part, along with some real foliage, and a heat lamp. The occupant is not, in fact, in his terrarium - the 20' long boa is currently draped over the bed, a pile of books, and watching television with a Pringles can held in one of its coils. "Ferrum--?" echoes Edmond, distracted, and then he's answered by the sight of the twenty-foot boa constrictor, and his heart skips a beat. Oh. As his stars disappear and his expression freezes in place, he has the presence of mind to turn and smile a pasted-on and fixed-looking thing at Sterling; his voice is distant and thin and a little high as he tells her, "Thank you very much." It is accompanied by a slight bow over his hands, met in front of his chest. He takes a step further in and addresses Ferrum, giving the snake an even deeper bow, voice -- if possible -- even threadier; his words are Malayali, and two of them are 'Adi Sesha', and it has the cadence of an invocation and an apology. And he walks stiffly to the bathroom and closes the door behind him. The water runs. The water continues to run. The running water partially covers the sound of a choked sob. It's-- awkward. He's in there long enough to calm down, which is a few minutes, and long enough to scrub his hands like he's Lady Macbeth, which, while overlapping those few minutes, adds another couple. When he finally emerges, he's gravely composed and showing some signs of rocking an adrenaline crash. His voice, however, is steady. "I am terribly sorry," he says with an apologetic smile. "Last night I went to CB Alexander's book release event, and some... unsettling things happened. I fear I am not entirely recovered. If you can forgive me, I believe the tea would help tremendously. It always does, yes?" "...Is he okay?" Ferrum looks over at Sterling in confusion, having been interrupted from his binge of Supernatural. The tail flicks into the can of Pringles, and then he pops it into his mouth, crunching away. Sterling merely shrugs, not commenting at the moment. When Edmond does emerge, the Changeling of the apartment is back in the main room, and Ferrum kind of waves his tail like a hand - he doesn't speak Malayali, and he's not as posh as Sterling. "Hey man, hope you feel better," and then the snake goes back to his TV-bender. Sterling, on the other hand, is still standing next to the table and when Edmond approaches she offers a hand out to him. Should he accept it, she folds her other over the back of his, giving it a squeeze in both. Unlike a certain bat, her hands are quite warm (and not wings). "Take the time you need to cope with it; and if you need to speak of it I will be here. In the meanwhile, I do think that tea is a wonderful idea." There's no judgment in her voice - but then, didn't she say she's an Oneirophysic? And Ferrum is... talking. BECAUSE OF COURSE HE IS. Edmond just swallows, freezing in place, and it takes him a second to find a reaction, any reaction, to Ferrum being the hoopiest of froods. Then it actually occurs to him: hedgebeast, not Lord Ananta, who supports Vishnu eternally, neverending. Finally he just laughs, and it does not have the edge of hysteria god damn it, and he grins incredibly ruefully at Ferrum. "Thank you," he tells the giant magic snake. He does accept Sterling's hand, and when it's warmly squeezed in both of hers, and there's no judgement, he very nearly breaks again. There is a welling in his eyes, and he looks up, smiling hard, until it stops. "Thank you," he says again, finally, lamely (he thinks); he looks back at her, and his smile is gentler, and there's desperation behind his eyes. Composure. Composure. "Tea. If I find I can speak of it, you will be the second to know." "We are all friends here; a little bastion away from the outside world. Past and present," offers up Sterling, reassuring and conversational at the same time. Reaching over, she draws out a chair for Edmond, and says to him, "Please, do have a seat." And then once he does, she's going to collect the kettle, placing a tea strainer full of a blend into the teapot and pouring water over top of it. "I do hope that black tea is agreeable to you. I thought it would be the best choice for the two of us, with all things considered, but it may be a more mild blend than what you are accustomed to." The pleasant reassurance, as casual as it needs to be, gives Edmond a chance to recover a little more, and the stars are coming out again, dim at first, but more shining as the seconds pass with nothing required from him. Seated, he tugs his waistcoat down again, then starts to methodically cut and butter a scone. "Black tea is perfect," he says with a more real smile than anything since the one he first gave Sterling when she opened the door. He fishes for something else to say and his hands start to slow, but she said, so he lets it go and focuses on his task, and tries not to worry about the silence being awkward. If the silence is awkward, Sterling shows no sign of that - it could be because she's Wizened and doesn't notice. Or it could be to any other number of things. As the tea is allowed to steep, she takes some cream and fills up the little caddy for it, putting a spoon into the sugar dish. "Where you are from - your time, your land - what do you usually have with tea? I'm afraid that India was never a topic I much studied. I always was too busy with something else." And yes: sugar and cream definitely go in Edmond's tea. He gives Sterling a quicker, brighter grin at her question, glancing up from the scone. "Well-- it depends on the situation and the company. Tea was generally a meal, informal and for family, around four in the afternoon; if there were no state guests, supper was a lighter thing around seven in the evening. If there were guests, then tea was earlier and light-- cucumber sandwiches and mathri and scones and sweets-- and very stuffy and I was not invited, and dinner was a ridiculous formal affair that was incredibly dull and long and heavy and usually starting at six precisely." There's a little twist to that smile, crooked and self-amused. "We were a protectorate, not under direct control of the British Empire, but some customs had become widespread and ingrained, like general meal schedule and cricket." "Ah, yes. I decided to forego the sandwiches - I didn't want it to be -too- stuffy for this evening," a peel of laughter leaves Sterling after that, perhaps somewhat weezy, as she returns to her own seat and tucks her skirt beneath her legs. "My parents were not quite... that formal, but nearly. They did have important guests on occasion, being of wealth and good breeding. I do believe you outdo me on that level." Taking up one of the plates meant for such, she puts a scone on it, and begins to slice and butter it neatly. Her table manners are surprisingly good - perhaps there are certain things that are never, truly, forgotten. Then, once the tea is finished steeping, she pours some for Edmond and doctors it up how he likes. "...I always found it rather boring, honestly; a young lady was not expected to speak of the things that interested me. Crafts and social gossip were more a call for me, at tea." The peal of laughter earns Sterling a quick sidelong grin, and Edmond takes a bite of his scone with one hand, carefully sliding his teacup and saucer closer with the other. He washes down his mouthful when Sterling's done explaining the stuffy side on her part, and he smiles a little lopsidedly. "You'd've enjoyed our somewhat-formal events, probably. Your interests would have been encouraged. It was still awfully dull, but it was no more dull for girls than boys." Stirring his tea absently, he looks thoughtful, and finally dawn begins to break somewhere around his bowtie, though the rest of the sky still darkens up to his inky-black hair. "And besides, you don't have to be boring at tea any longer anyway. Do talk about your interests, please!" "I always wanted to be a doctor, when I was a little girl up through a young woman," explains Sterling, neatly folding one leg over the other. She adds a small amount of sugar and milk to her own tea, gently swirling the spoon within the confines of the cup. "It was... interesting to me, and ladies already had their own medical schools in Britain by the time I was properly looking into it. I even went to school for it." She takes a dainty sip from the teacup. "Of course, my mother disapproved - she was old-fashioned in that regard, even if sadly -that- brand of old-fashioned exists even today." "I've read that it is worse for women in scientific fields from their coworkers than it is from customers or patients," Edmond agrees, one corner of his mouth turning down; he shakes his head. "I am sorry you have to put up with that kind of attitude, from whoever shows it to you. But at least you did get to go to school for it. And now you are a doctor! Of many talents, and a wicked sense of humor." Another bite of scone; scones are the best. "Oh? Now, as far as I'm concerned, they can sod right off. I never truly... managed to become a doctor, until after my Durance," Sterling is quite upfront and frank about this, her tone kept casual even as she speaks of the topic. "As such, most of my trials there seem... incredibly easy by comparison." One of her brows lifts slowly, head tilting subtly to the side at Edmond and a light smirk playing at her lips. She takes another sip from her tea, leaving the scone she'd claimed for herself in front of her. "It does help that I've mostly worked as a travelling volunteer, rather than an established or big name doctor." "That does help," the bowtied and pointy-eared elemental allows after losing all self-control and scarfing down the rest of his scone. Table-manners fail. At least it didn't cram it all in his mouth at once. "I find travelling all the time makes a lot of things easier, and so does volunteering. Though-- the latter doesn't cover expenses especially well." He fidgets a little with his teaspoon, then admits, "I tend to travel to make sure I don't-- get overly attached, anywhere. Because I need to see the rest of the world. But I also don't have any special skills, like you do." "It may be easier for me - I have connections, and have assisted with research and other things. Whether by nature or circumstances, I'm brilliant," when Sterling says it, for whatever reason there's no bragging in her voice - it's merely stated as a form of fact, accompanied with a small arch of her brows. Then, back to Edmond in turn, the dress-clad living x-ray gives a slow nod and says, "Overly attached. That is entirely understandable. I suspect that is... easier, even if I travel for other reasons. And I -sincerely- doubt that you have no special skills. Certainly you're quite accomplished at something other than looking pretty?" That might be a compliment, wrapped in a thin veneer of taunting. The teaspoon gets twisted around a little in Ed's hands, though not enough to bend it. He shifts his weight in his seat. "Fighting," he finally answers. "I'm pretty good at fighting. Toppling corrupt regimes and running from the consequences. Escaping the jaws of death." He looks up at Sterling again, and he's smiling with nothing behind it. "Dancing. Performing dashing rescues. Breaking and entering. Killing monsters. I'm-- okay at singing, and I do play an instrument. But I'm not very clever, just very quick." Interest, perhaps, dawns in Sterling's eyes as Edmond speaks. Even though he seems uncomfortable with it, there are those trails and pulses of lightning - from the Wizened's eyes, running all the way to her fingertips if he keeps track. Little crackles of electricity, coruscating around her teacup where it's held in her fingers. "Why, my dear, if I didn't know better I would say you were trying to seduce me. Color me impressed. Why do you seem so ashamed of it?" "Because I used to be brilliant," Edmond answers immediately, setting the teaspoon down and reaching for another scone, not meeting Sterling's eyes. "I used to be clever. And I used to have a purpose. Fighting is nothing to be proud of; I'm not sure what you find impressive, there. There's nothing about those things I can do that is shameful to me, just-- they are all reminders of what I am no longer any good for." He glances up from the new scone to the lightning crackling down Sterling's arms and to her hands. "And," he says, and this time there's a smile with nothing but wry humor behind it, "if I were attracted to women, I would certainly be attempting to seduce you." "Ah, well, more's the pity," it doesn't sound as if Sterling is terribly put out by this revelation, though. She sets the teacup down before her, instead taking up her own scone and buttering it before a bite. Perhaps not the most healthy thing for a doctor to be eating. "...I'm relatively certain, Edmond, that you sell yourself short in that regard. You are hardly unintelligent, even if the nature of what you now are limits you as much as it enhances me. But if you were truly a numpty you wouldn't be invited to tea. I don't tolerate fools for long, unless they're my patients." Even if it's not the most healthy thing for a doctor to be eating, Sterling did buy them, and they are delicious. Edmond waits until Sterling's done buttering her scone before he sees to his own, and again it's methodical, it's something for his hands to do that isn't fidgeting. He grins outright at her use of the word 'numpty', and makes a gracious little sitting-at-the-table bow, hands (and scone and butterknife) spread theatrically wide. "I appreciate that you approve of my wit, dear Doctor. But please-- tell me what it is that I said in which you were so interested; if there's something there that you think is especially marketable, I am looking for a means of income that doesn't involve fighting monsters in an area full of people this powerful-- or stealing corpses from police morgues when there aren't that many that need stealing." Then he looks up from his scone and his eyes sparkle. "Unless, of course, you're only interested in the dancing-- which I could certainly be convinced to do. No matter my proclivities, I am, I hear, more than adequate arm candy." Sterling laughs in answer to Edmond's question, admitting quietly towards him with an inclination of her head in answer to the bow, "I'm afraid I was interested in the fighting of monsters - it's something that appeals to me. Or at least the flickering flames I keep locked away in my heart. The dancing, as well," her eyes gleam again, at the last one however - something she does perhaps truly enjoy. "It's been a while that I have gone. But I do wonder, what you believe you would -like- to do that you feel you wouldn't be any good at?" "Well! Fighting monsters and dancing are two things I would love to do with you, Doctor," laughs Edmond, setting his scone down with half already gone, then drinking some more of his tea. And then she asks that, and he squirms, looking embarrassed. "Well, I want to start a punk rock band, but anyone who knows three chords and isn't afraid of looking ridiculous can do that. I'd love to be a published author of science fiction, but I cannot construct a plot to save my life. I have a veritable mountain of rejection letters. When I was small, I wanted to work in the kitchen-- and I do know how to cook, I made sure I learned as soon as I was out of the Hedge. But-- what I wanted to be when I grew up, the basics for which I would have been studying in a few years anyway, was a diplomat. I didn't want to be stuck in one place. I wanted to be a peace broker in far away places, crafting treaties to benefit both sides of a disagreement... and I would have been brilliant at it." "I'm afraid I have no friends in the publishing industry, but I do hear you can pay to be published now. On... whatever that website was called," Sterling's deft fingers, tipped in those odd metallic nails, have found her teacup again as she lifts it up with its saucer. Daintily. "The others should be doable enough, if you desire to do them. I'm certain the fame is what is difficult..." She tips the teacup back, taking a careful sip. "There -are- the two nearby Freeholds that don't appear to be on the best terms with each other, if you wished to take the delve into Lost politics in that manner." Edmond shakes his head. "Hobbies and pen names. Nobody reads self-published novels. Most of them are terrible. My plots are terrible." He turns what's left of his second scone around and around in his hands, looking at it absently, then lets out the ghost of a laugh. "Sterling, I can't read people anymore. If I tried to broker peace I'd start a war. It's like-- not only my psychic empathy, because obviously most diplomats aren't psychics, but my actual understanding of motivations and discomfort and-- and other tells-- were surgically removed." He looks up. "Trying to understand what makes someone tick, trying to find out what will move them, what will touch their hearts, is like drawing blood from a stone. My diplomacy these days involves fists and knives, not handshakes and signatures." There is a flicker of a pained expression that crosses Sterling's face - as much as a face made of dark mist and lightning can really reveal such a thing. It's like a cut of electricity from the temple, slicing along through the dark mass of her hair. Soon, though, she nods and says, "I understand that; perhaps you could offer to be a guard to the diplomats who are capable of doing so? Surely they need such." First the ghost of a laugh, and now a faint and self-deprecating smile. "I am good at being a guard, after all," says Edmond with quiet, amused resignation. "It's something to do. I can offer. Perhaps the freehold will take my services if I offer a personal pledge, for I cannot offer fealty." Then he sits up and waggles the scone at Sterling, getting a determined look on his face. "And in the meantime, monster-hunting and punk rock and more rejection letters. Most of the fun of writing is in the writing itself! And the ~research~; oh how I love the research...!" "Oh I -have- heard of the research of writers. And some that do not. Certainly if you are doing the research, you are ahead of some!" it comes out in nearly a gush from Sterling, albei a subdued one rather than anything over the top and befitting of some of the more animated residents of Fort Brunsett. "I do wonder - what have you been writing about, as of late Certainly you could draw on your background and have some intrigue and merit for uniqueness." "Not doing the research is the gravest of sins," Edmond says, hand dramatically clapped to his chest in mildly over-emphasized dismay. "At least I am also ahead of many in that I do not take the Internet as gospel truth. The written word must always be backed up by citations from trustworthy sources! I've even seen..." He lowers his voice and leans in, eyes widening. "...recursive citation. O brave new world, that hath such research in't!" He smirks at his own quote appropriation, reaching for the teapot to top off his cup. "It's been primarily science fiction. Which-- I really, really do love physics, and there have been such incredible strides made in the past century. My science is sound, damn it, and my protagonists are fun, but my villains are flat and everyone's motivations are terribly simple. And as mentioned before, no plot. The only story I have worth drawing on isn't finished yet." "Ah, so it's the nature of the human mind that eludes you. You could always do case studies, of the people around you, and ask what motivates -them-. Certainly within the realm of even a 'villain' there is some humanity, the guts of the animal within," Sterling punctuates this with a slash of the butter knife, which she's taken up again to assault her poor scone with. A bite is had, and she chews thoughtfully, politely finishing her bite before speaking again, "There is also that writer... what was his name... C.B. Alexander, I believe? The one that writes a form of Americana..." "Again and always, yes," the Elemental says ruefully, after polishing off his second scone, and then Sterling mentions CB and Edmond's expression gets... complicated. "I've been doing case studies, as it were, ever since I returned to this wide world-- I've reams of notes. But data doesn't equate to understanding. It occasionally makes a good show of and, it can be mistaken for understanding if it's thorough enough, and that is at least that for which I currently aim. I'll get there. Asking seems a little uncouth, but if I am honest about it, then it is at least field research." He seems set to gloss past CB Alexander for a moment, and then he shifts in his seat and can't meet Sterling's eyes. "I will have to go back there. It's not his fault what happened. I don't-- even know what happened. But he was kind to me when he didn't have to be, and I like his books. They're nothing like what I want to write, but they are heartfelt, and I do enjoy despairing of his characters." Sterling listens to what Edmond has to say, apparently studying the man from across the table. Eventually she wonders, in something of a plain-spoken tone, though without the press ofurgency to it or the true expectation of an answer (which Edmond may or may not be able to detect), "What happened?" He's silent enough, not looking at Sterling, that it's possible Edmond might not answer at all. Then he goes to pick up his tea and tries, holding it in both his hands. "There was a woman there asking horrible questions at the Q&A part after the reading. Questions designed to cut him. Questions that were nobody's business, personal and awful. Many of us were trying to-- to interrupt her, but she was better at it. She kept writing things down in a notebook, never even looking at it. She was taking joy in hurting him. So several distractions were set up at once, but she kept going, so I spilled a drink on her and her notebook, and she--" He stops talking; he shuts his eyes. He looks at the ceiling next. His hands are shaking; he sloshes tea on the tablecloth and his hand, and doesn't even notice the heat until the dampness sets in, and then he lets out a small cry of wrenching horror as he looks down, and stares in incomprehension when it's only tea, it's only tea. He's frozen in place for a second, and then mechanically gets up, re-teaches himself to breathe, and bolts into the kitchen; there's water running again. It's a large apartment, and so the dining room is set off from the kitchen - allowing Edmond some sort of privacy from the hostess. Sterling sits quietly at the table, still holding her own teacup and listening. Eventually, her voice drifts to him - gentle and more soothing in tone than it was prior. "It is only tea, Edmond; do not worry, but take all of the time you need. It's alright." It's a thick voice in the kitchen, called over the sound of the faucet. "I should-- go home. I'm--" A wet laugh that sounds like a chest wound. "--not. Stable. I'm not. All I can see is blood on me, and-- and filth, and rot, and-- leavings-- death and fluids, sinking in-- into me-- and I will never be clean, I don't-- even know why I try, I will never be-- she made sure, in every way, that I could never be pure again-- and, and she was there--" It might be a danger sign that there's no hint of anger and no laugh at the first thing Sterling says. It takes another moment of silence from him before the water stops running, and then there's a tearing of paper towel and some more silence. Finally, voice muffled, Edmond's voice comes out of there very small. "Sometimes, Doctor, and in some ways, I am still twelve. I cannot... at this time... comport myself with dignity. The woman turned to me and she was my Keeper, and she came to touch me, and she got it on me all over again, and I have to go home. I will-- I am sorry. I will invite you to my home when I am recovered, and try to make up for-- ruining your-- this. Kindness. I'll be-- more fun." "You are welcome to stay, of course, and rest on the couch if the company would help Edmond - the reminder that there is someone else here, and that this is not your Durance. I will even raise my mask, should that help," Sterling offers gently, still not having moved from where she sits at the table. She seems intent, really, on letting Edmond move around or approach on his own terms rather than rushing to him and trying to touch him or possibly causing another bad reaction. "If you feel it best to be alone, I will allow you to leave... but please, consider the offer of what might bring you comfort." There's a choked little laugh from behind Sterling. It's sad and apologetic and grateful all at once, but mostly, mostly, it is entirely overwhelmed. "I-- thank you. But I need to be alone, where there is no one else, and I am-- in the space that I have made mine. I am sorry. I will be OK soon, I-- should have asked to postpone-- I just... need to hide. Please." "Should you wish company," says Sterling, reaching out in order to touch her fingers to Edmond's hand as she turns back towards him. "I will be here, and I am willing to come into your space. But I understand, also, needing the privacy. Don't do so out of fear for what I will see - my old eyes, figuratively, have seen most every part of human nature since I was Taken." The touch is unexpected; there's a flinch at the contact, but Edmond doesn't draw away. His mien hides what his mask does not, for the most part, but it doesn't hide the redness of his eyes. Still, he gives Sterling a watery smile. "I am not afraid. Not of you, or of you seeing. I just cannot--" He laughs, caught on the word, and reaches to scrub his eyes with the heel of his hand and the inside of his wrist for a moment, white teeth showing in what could be grin, grimace, or both. "I can't people right now. I will call you soon, Doctor Plague, thank you." With a nod, Sterling relents as she rises from the table, resting a palm atop the edge of it. The chair is tucked in, and then she goes to fetch Edmond's coat for him, offering it out, "Then I won't keep you longer. I do hope you find your peace, Edmond, and thank you for visiting." Should he accept it, she'll offer him a peck on the cheek - perhaps something unexpected from the doctor, but more befitting in her past. It's allowed, and he's not even stiff and uncomfortable about it-- it's telegraphed, he can see it coming, and it's her, and it's all right. Edmond pulls his coat on, generally avoiding making eye contact, motions fluttering between awkwardly jerky and precise, and then he gives her a very fleeting smile. "Thank you for inviting. We'll dance soon, too." He doesn't say goodbye; he doesn't even open the door. He just slips through it as though it weren't actually there.