[ Hm.

The urge to maintain delicate handling is there, the same urge that prevents him from stating without prompting the things he would also like. There is the question of what he deserves up against what they are willing to give, and it all still feels off-kilter. He is off-kilter. He thinks of the case of cigarettes in his pocket but doesn't go for one.

After a beat of observing them both, Marcus reaches down to undo the buckles and laces at his boot. ]

It was an odd night, [ he echoes, as he does this. ] There'll be questions, and talk of what the answers ought to be, who should say them, how they should be said.

[ The boots are nudged aside, and he stands, hands going to the edges of his frockcoat. ]

Solutions may come eventually, but not before more problems are made. [ The coat is left over the back of his chair, and he turns away from them both, moving for the door. There's a key in the lock that he doesn't recall Julius turning, so he turns it, the tiny mechanisms within tumbling heavily into place. ]

I would like very much to avoid it all for an hour or two.