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[ladyfrownsalot]

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[epistemological]

"I sold two of my ribs to a man made of a hundred people's parts to hear his story and ask him some questions inside of the living embodiment of being disoriented," he answers back, "which makes my life bizarre. Weird. Full of strange and supernatural phenomena. But that doesn't mean 'logic' doesn't exist."

[ladyfrownsalot]

"Okay, well, I don't know what else to tell you."

She finishes her tea and gets to her feet.

"This has been not fun at all, let's do it again sometime."

[epistemological]

He'll take one look at her and then scrub his face before he sighs and nods. Yes, of course.

"Two matters of business before you go: first, do you want to take this?" and he points to the file, "and after you've read if, if you want me to read it, I will." Because don't think he hasn't noticed how much of a teeth pull this has been. "And second, is there any sort of schedule you'd prefer or just... meet up when it feels appropriate?"

[ladyfrownsalot]

"That second one. Appropriate. That's fine."

She picks up the file.

"...Do you really think the Admiral's going to write a bunch of garbage about me, or do you think I might want to go through and red-ink it first or...what?"

[epistemological]

He has the feeling that 'appropriate' is 'never if she can help it' but as he'd said: he won't force it. As for the second.

"I honestly don't know. I never read my first inmate's file."

[ladyfrownsalot]

"Huh."

She gives Winifred a look to communicate that the scritches are a secret to be kept between them, and takes her file with her when she leaves his cabin.

[epistemological]

He'll let her go. Nothing more to say for the moment, after all. Instead, he has some thinking to do.