They don't make Ghosts like they used to.
The tea was something he had picked up since Wilhelm had done his work. There was some fascination for the young surgeon in the various blends and different responses his body would have. Mentally, with every step, he cataloged and explained why he would feel calm, anxious, serene, drowsy. Each herb was accounted for and defined silently.
One shoulder lifted in a slight shrug as he faced the window, looking out at the tiny shades of light that had pushed through the mire that suffocated Darkshire with such finesse and mastery.
Another sip, taken with a slowness that allowed him to properly savor the taste. The relative blankness of his mind was a refreshing change from the usual manic state that he had understood for most of his life. The ingredients of the tea brushed through on that fine line that rests between conscious and subconscious, a list of supplies that remained meticulously accounted for read out in the voice of his mind with a more severe tone, but quiet fell where schemes would most often scream. The smile came without a fight to halt it, taking a young face that had spent years in the absence of joy. It was too easy to let it linger, and so when it evolved into light laughter there was no immediate response to squelch the emotion.
"Ah, but it is as beautiful as it can be!" He declares aloud to a silent home, the previous tenets having long since been removed. "We have so easily moved beyond that glaring point of failure, look at how our stride maintains with no burden!" His head shakes with the pleased laughter, one part disbelief, one part joy. The cup of tea is brought up and sipped from, drained of its remaining liquid and left empty. He moves with the ease of a man with the utmost of casual intentions, placing it lazily on a nearby table as he moves through a home that would never be what Raven Hill was. The thought passed unmolested, prompting an uncertain tilt of his head as his legs carried him on. "We've suffered worse blows, have we not?" He questioned to whatever unseen party he conversed with, gesturing vaguely with his hands as he arrived at his destination -- a pristine and shining tray of surgical instruments.
"As good a haul as any." He remarks, picking up a scalpel for inspection. A pointer finger is prodded against it lightly, a small bubble of blood welling up from the freshly appointed breach in his skin. An absent mind urges him to rub it against his thumb, and so he does. "Well crafted. They will be useful when the time comes." He trails off, allowing the thought to complete itself without further intervention. "Stehl has returned, did I tell you that?" He questions of the unseen party, finally rubbing his fingers against his robe. "It seems to be the age of dead men. As headstrong as he was before, which is..." His head leans again, tilting this way and then that as if in consideration, "Bothersome." he concludes. "Though I am confident that he is incapable of proving to be an issue." The scalpel is mindlessly tapped against the tray, his eyes falling unfocused as he rolls over the potential outcomes. He arrives to the same conclusion that he had so many times before -- success, and it was so very likely when all variables were considered.
"A shame, though..." His words falter for a second as the ghostly and twisted form of Aveta finally flickers into view, swaying gently in a non-existent wind. "A shame about the Doctor's stomach. It would only be courteous to provide something to ease the symptoms, would it not?" He asks, his eyes on the wraith as if she were still the Elf he had spent so many evenings with. Her response is non-committal and disinterested, her hand lofting towards a nearby door. As if prompted, a scream shrieks free from beyond it, something deeper in the house, below the foundation.
"You are growing impatient in death, my dear." He chides, but ultimately gives a small nod in response. One hand lifts to pull his mask up before both shift to grasp the tray and lift it. "Come, then. Let us see to our guest. If anything, it will provide some time to best plan how to treat Yardley's ailment."
