Atticus flinched at the delicate cough, and he lifted his head a moment later, his single eye wide and his face pale. “I... there was just... “ He shook his head, his eye shutting against the world, one hand dragging through his hair in a savage gesture. “I’m fine, thank you,” he managed to say a moment later, though there was a definite shake in his voice that belied that.  He heard it there himself and grimaced. “I will be. I just need a moment to... compose myself.” As soon as he could manage the stairs, he was going back to his room and finding... something. Anything. He might have smoked his last weaning cigarette of Dragon, but there would be other things. Like the vial of opium oil he lent to Anel. That would help.<br/><br/>He was confused at the half question, but it clicked after a second. “Ah, yes. Yes, please.” His speech patterns were jerky, rushed. His accent was ugly in the air. Pox it all. He huffed out a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m going upstairs in just a minute. I won’t be here long.”<br/>