There is still the faint taint of smoke in the air carried over from last night, and to be honest, it's not a bad idea. But Lucius will take his tea instead once it's been prepared, cane clenched in both hands and passingly inspecting the snake end of it while he waits, standing -- the heirloom had avoided any dousings in the moon water, and is kept as polished as the rings on his fingers and the shoes on his feet, but he doesn't want to be caught staring.

Those glances are reserved for when he is quite sure his younger self has his attention on his own hands. When he speaks, his voice is as quiet and refined as ever, but with that rougher edge that a brief foray into alcoholism and age will do to you. "I don't know. A few weeks, by my rough estimate -- I didn't think to count the days.

"And badly." To respond to that first part. "But it is truly amazing what you find yourself adapting to."

And by 'you' he does actually mean 'you', Lucius.