[ He takes the cup with a smile, warming his fingers against the sides. Tea isn't his favorite, if he's honest - it reminds him of October's killing games, of the gallons of tea with honey he must have had to soothe his throat enough to speak after being strangled very nearly to death. But this carries a different scent, and Goodsir's gentle reassurances. They're so earnest, so precisely what he needs to hear, that emotion wells within him once again, not anger or grief, but relief. ]

You're a really sweet person. Thank you. At least someone lets me have a little dignity.

[ Blowing on the surface of the liquid, and venturing a sip. It's not coffee, but it's cozy and pleasant. Calming. ]

What about you, though? Feeling any more settled in?