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[the last week or so of Delia's afterlife has proven to be very, very interesting and not, ultimately, in a good way]

[bewarned, then, those who might wish to talk to her. The lady is annoyed, and prone to snapping]

[this is not to say, however, that she doesn't want to talk to people, merely that the bitch!risk factor has gone up]

[dramatically]

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"We often are," he admits. It may be worth pointing out that he doesn't have a glass with him.

He gives her a careful look. "Art pained?"

[she has a job, she can order her own]

Ah, the question should be mind or body?

No glass at all. He's stopped drinking. For now, anyway.

"Either, dear heart."

As you will, [Delia says then, seating herself on the table]

Body...will be fine within a week. Back to normal. Mind...well.

When...when you talked to me last, I had just seen a former lover of mine appear. After having been gone for four months. He...looked like he'd been tortured. And then my employer decides to be catty at me as soon as she sees me next.

I'm not having a good week.

"I. . . see," he says, slowly.

"Would anything make it better?"

No idea. [her tone is a little sharp, but then she just rubs her temples]

And...I am sorry. For the other night.

"As am I. 'Twas my fault, not thine."

He sits, a little heavily.

Your fault? How was it your fault?

"For saying the wrong thing. For not being able to make everything better. I feel as if I should. Although that is a foolish thing. Nevertheless."

Valentine...

[she reaches out, and touches his shoulder]

It's not your fault. Anything would have set me off.

"Mayhap." He offers her a small smile.

"Forgive me. I am not in the best of moods."

That makes two of us.

[she smiles back, a little rueful, a little bitter]

So we are a right pair.

"Indeed."

[am I to blame for that, too?, she doesn't say, just smiles at him]

[a little]

He sighs.

"My apologies. You do not need to hear my troubles."

On the contrary, that should distract from my own which are, ultimately, my own fault anyway.

"Ah, are they not always?"

He sighs.

"It is mine own. Fault. Mercutio is right, I do need my soul. I am sure I have done some thing I would not have, otherwise."

[softly, uncertainly,]

What have you done?

"I do not know. Said things, done things." He shrugs, helplessly.

"I will not know until I get my soul back."

Would...would you still want my company?

[oh, hello, insecruity. Long time, no see]

"Of a certainty! You. . ." He pauses. "Are one of the things I would not have done, but out of a mis-placed sense of propriety."

Well.

I lost that a long, long time ago.

"My life would have been all the poorer, without including you."

He half smiles. Perhaps she feels the same. It would be nice.

I...if I had any sense of propriety, I'd have been married years ago.

Sometimes I think that would not have been bad, but others?

You meet such interesting people.

"We do try our best."

And he smiles, sweetly.