All the lamps within the operating theatre are lit this evening, leaving the expansive room surprisingly bright despite its lack of windows. The space has an openness to it which might be inviting were it not for the unpleasant scent of innards and death which only grows in potency the nearer one gets to the sunken area in the center. Thankfully, a young woman with short blonde hair stands near a table laden with pleasantly fragrant linen masks which she hands out to each guest upon arrival. The masks all feature aromatic herbs tucked between two layers of fabric wide enough to fit over both nose and mouth, long ties allowing them to be easily secured with a pair of knots behind the head.

Lianne stands near the marble table where the evening's example of ordinary anatomy lays flat and naked and utterly dead. The man of middling weight and height appears to have been in his later years, his hair greying with wrinkles around his slightly sunken features. Incisions have already been made in preparation for tonight's demonstration, lurid lines marking where the cadaver has already been opened and inspected. Just to make sure he's as ordinary as he seems. Currently, the Speaker for the Dead is reviewing her preparations, waiting for the attendees to take their masks and find their seats.

Rinel rushes into the room. "Am I late? I'm not late. Right? Oh, good. He's still in one piece." She slips into the audience next to Derovai and gives him an irritatingly sunny smile. "Hello!"

Duarte thought he might do quite well without an aromatic mask. That is until just a few strides beyond where they are located near the entrance - gah! He makes as face as it hits him. He quickly doubles back and takes a mask.

Into the operating theater jingles Mae. Dressed in near black, hood up, she's a perfectly good embodiment of death. Of course, the way she grins at Fajra - the assistant handing out masks - and trades her a cheek kiss for a mask suggests it's not just dreary and glooming, this Mae. She's a mix of things! A proper Harlequin. She pushes back her hood to tie on her mask, then steps aside, to avoid Rinel's rush, and then continues on over to one of the benches. She does a little twirl on her toe, and ends up pointing towards... that one!

Mae has joined the the benches on the right.

Lethe looks around with a curious gaze. She sees the mask and takes it before going to take a seat.

Lethe looks around with a curious gaze. She sees the mask and takes it before going to take a seat.

Derovai got here at some point, it seems, because there's Rinel next to him. He nods towards her, remarking evenly, "I'll get you a mask. Hello, Fajra," he tells Lianne's blonde assistant, picking up a mask for himself and one for Rinel. "I hope the Marquessa's paying you well for /this/." He gives Lianne a vaguely pointed look, even if there's some humor buried in there, and then looks back towards Mae's jingling entrance and twirling, raising a brow as he hands Rinel a mask and moves to put his own on. "Decided to leave your seat up to chance, Mae?" It's a bit muffled behind that mask.

Arion arrives with smooth graceful movements, the crimson haired male breezing into the room and accepting the offered mask with a grateful smile. A curious look is given to the corpse as he puts the mask on over his mouth and nose fastening it carefully so it won't mess up his long hair. He is dressed in breeches and boots of dusk colored leathers worn with a custom designed silk silk of emerald green that matches his eyes. He peers around and then moves to find himself a seat with the rest.

Lethe has joined the the benches on the right.

Duarte has joined the the benches on the right.

Derovai has joined the the benches on the left.

Sir Alren arrives, following Bianca.

Bianca has joined the the benches on the left.

"As Fate fell, Chaos shattered," Mae says, through her mask, to Derovai. She stares at the man with big, big eyes. "All things are left to chance," she concludes. Then her eyes go to the dead thing and the cadaver she's standing next to.

Margret arrives, and gets into line to pick up one of the masks. She smiles before murmuring her thanks to the young woman who hands her one before she ties it on and goes to one of the benches to sit down.

Margret has joined the the benches on the right.

Bianca moved quietly in, shifting to find a place at the benches. A mask was plucked up as she passed and tied in place en route.

Fajra might blush just the teensiest bit for Mae's affectionate payment for the mask; of course, with her coloration, that tiny little blush might as well be neon. She breathes a laugh to Derovai and assures, "Always, Master Voss," with a wry grin. Each and every guest who moves past is offered a mask to make the stink--sure to only get worse--more bearable.

As the stream of curious individuals starts to slow, Lianne looks up from her preparations to consider those gathered, a small smile bowing her lips, unhidden by the mask which rather ineffectively hangs around her neck instead of covering her face. It assures her words are not muffled with she lifts her voice to address the crowd. "Good evening. Such a pleasure to see so many interested in learning more about ourselves and our world. My intention tonight is to demonstrate the techniques and proceedings of a standard autopsy that you might be better equipped to recognize an anomalous event should you ever find yourself in a position to investigate a peculiar death. Should you have any questions, you are welcome to call them out while I work or save them for the discussion afterward, at your preference." She pauses just a moment, her smile brightening, before turning to the cadaver on display and setting to work.

Stepping up to the dead gentleman, she takes up a scalpel and demonstrates the proper technique for holding it and cuts into an untouched section of the cadaver's skin to show the resistance and response to the incision before peeling back the skin where she'd already cut earlier, yanking open the pre-broken ribcage. Which, she notes, is usually far more challenging to open. It's okay to ask for help. Then it's on to organ counts: one heart, one liver, one stomach, one bladder, two kidneys, two lungs. "Should you ever find there are redundancies, extra organs crowding the cavity, that's a sure sign that something may be amiss, and I would recommend contacting the Guild promptly." After a thoughtful pause, she adds, "Two few might prove problematic as well..." before continuing on.

Derovai raises a hand with a question. "What's his name?" he asks Lianne. "If we're going to start to cut into him, we should at least know /who/ we're cutting into. And specifically how did he die? He looks like he had a pretty long life, but..." He shrugs, although his voice does sound concerned to at least humanize the man, for whatever reason. Mae's words make him look her way, his own blue eyes widening. "Not all, surely," he tosses back to her before falling silent.

"How do we know he was dead /before/ you started cutting into him?" calls out Mae, on the back of Derovai's 'what's his name'. The Harlequin is, as one might expect, wholly unfazed by the deconstructing of the human person before her.

"Quite moot - seeing as how he's dead now, at least." Duarte answers for Mae, with a presentational motion of his hand toward the opened corpse.

Arion's hand is swift to follow as it raises from where he has perched on one of the benches. His gentle toned voice is slightly muffled by the mask, but still able to be heard and understood. "What could be the cause of possible redundancies? The body can be pretty torn up depending on cause of death, but what causes interal anomalies like that?" His eyes sparkle with curiousity.

Margret has brought a board with a place for a pot of ink on it. She gets out a parchment, pot of ink, and quill and begins scribbling down notes as Lianne speaks. As the questions begin coming in she looks up from her board, but says nothing.

"A fine question, Master Voss," Lianne answers without looking up. Not for his question, at least. Mae's earns an impish look, a brightly amused smile. The coroner circles around to the head of the table to turn the dead man's head and lift it up slightly to show a point of trauma, where his skull is very likely only recently misshapen after some grievous injury. Most of the blood has been cleaned away, but the point of impact is sunken in and uncomfortable to look at. "I am given to understand that Reginald tripped, fell backwards, and hit his head rather soundly against some masonry." She flicks a look to Mae, eyebrows arched, to see if that's sufficient to alleviate even those teasing concerns before she sets the cadaver's head back into place and proper orientation upon the marble table and turns her attention to Arion. "Abyssal influence, in my experience. Specifically, in the case of such redundancies, affiliation with Legion." Spoken without batting an eye.

Bianca drew a small notebook from her bag as well as a sliver of tempered charcoal to begin taking notes. Like ya' do.

Arion frowns but nods his expression grim at that answer. "Thats why we would need to seek help in that case then." He falls silent after that listening and watching intently as the demonstration continues.

"Ah, we have a Mercy in our midst," Derovai remarks, only a little dryly, towards Arion. "Here I thought you hadn't any brains beneath all that hair." He's teasing, probably, even if the grin following his words is a little sharp. "Which one of my questions was good?" he wonders of Lianne. "Name or cause of death?" He grimaces at the sight of poor Reginald's injury, content to watch for the moment.

Rinel is already wading through notes and ink, her quill scribbling madly as she writes down various bits of information. "Are there ways of determining the balance of the humours after death, or does decomposition of the corpse render that an impossible task?" She looks aside at Derovai. "Be nice," she says.

Mae looks to Arion, as he asks that question. Then back to Lianne, as she answers. Then back to Arion, once more. Her brows go up. "Legion?" she asks aloud, as she looks back to Lianne.

Margret begins writing again as Lianne answers the questions, and her quill is scratching along at a constant pace until the Speaker of the Dead's last words. Her dark eyes widen slightly above her mask, and then she looks down to begin scribbling even more furiously. Scratch scratch scratch her quill goes.

Arion eyes Derovai with a soft huff. "I'm not a Mercy, but I -do- have something of a desire to study medicine among other things." The comment about his hair has him rolling his eyes. "My hair takes nothing away from my brains, thank you. Both are quite well maintained."

"I like your hair!" Rinel pipes up, though her eyes are fixed on the corpse.

Bianca chuckled softly, glancing briefly between Derovai, Arion and Rinel before returning to her notes.

"Perhaps we ought to autopsy that hair next..." Mae says, to herself, loud enough to ensure everyone can hear it.

Arion glares at Mae. "No." He declares simply. His tone declaring that this is NOT up for discussion as he turns back to pay attention to the lesson.

Lianne nods to Arion to confirm his understanding, though she seems to disregard Derovai's remarks entirely this time as she makes her way back around to the open cavity from which the stench of bowels and death arises--not without effect on the lady scientist, her nose scrunching the faintest bit as she resists the urge to make a more sour face--and settles her verdant attention on Mae. "Skald's Reflection," she answers with an easy smile. "Archfiend of Slavery and Pack Instincts." Then, back to Arion, she notes, "That interest would be put to good use within the Physicians' Guild." At long last, she looks to Rinel, though only after scooping up the liver to hold it up for all to see. "It's rather tricky to determine the balance of humors post-mortem. We can /infer/ a great deal, but death unsettles the balance as rot and dessication set in. Already, you'll see how the liver has lost its vitality, the humors it holds bleeding out into the... mess that settles into the cavity." She gives the liver a little poke to show its current consistency before adding, "Another point worth mention. Should a body dessicate prematurely, all of its humors drained in their entirety, leaving the corpse dry and sunken, more evidence of Abyssal influence."

"No worries my fine-locked fellow. I'm sure your mane would yield little insight to science, and is thus quite safe from such experimentation." Duarte says in reassurance for Arion. He turns his gaze back Lianne, and listens intently to this last bit - specifically.

Derovai murmurs something briefly to Bianca, before shrugging at Rinel carelessly at her words. "I'm always nice; you just don't realize it." But he grins brightly at Arion, having no further comment, listening to Lianne's words, his gaze settled on her as he sprawls at the seat he's chosen. "Are you saying this from previous research conducted by others, Marquessa, or has this body actually been witnessed by yourself or by others within the Guild?"

Mae's look, as she stares at Arion suggests she did not hear the man. No, she's still eyeing that hair. Right up until Lianne answers her, then her eyes shoot back, her brows go up. 'Pack Instincts', she mouths, as she stares. And finally at the mention of dry husks of bodies, Mae scrunches up her nose in distaste. Which, well, loses it's effect behind the mask.

Rinel taps her chin thoughtfully, leaving another smear of ink on it. "/Interesting/," she murmurs. "Is it only blood that has aionic potential? Perhaps all of the humours do. Or is blood special?" She turns to Derovai. "Why would it be special?" She blinks. "Erm. Why am I asking you?" A waft of excrement assails her nostrils, and the scholar makes a face. "Blech. It smells like a journeyman's first skinning." She looks at the mask. "Oh! It's for the smell." Rinel puts on the scholar and beams at Derovai. "We'll compromise. You are nice at times."

"I am actually considering joining either the Scholars or the Physicians actually." Arion replies as he peers at the liver curiously his gaze thoughtful. "So some of the sure signs of Abyssal influence are abnormal changes to the body itself, even after death? Hmm. I suppose thats a form of proof that dealing with unatural forces unbalances your humors?" He seems oblivious to the potential danger that is Mae's obsession with his hair.

Bianca has left the the benches on the left.

Sir Alren have been dismissed.

"But does a natural life have different affects as well? Can the humors differ after death even without any Abyssal interferance?" Arion adds onto his question still looking quite intriged.

"What would you define as premature dessication?" Margret asks from behind her mask.

"If you were without blood, Mister-...?" Mae prompts, as she looks to Arion. "That would be an imbalance of humors. And I do assure there are many dead people who have not nearly enough blood inside of them. Likewise, a rise in black bile might explain why someone, say... lost the will to live?" Mae's brows lift. "We've seen it before," Mae adds, with a frown crossing her lips. "Without any abyssal influences. Just-... people die in a lot of different ways."

Derovai shrugs at Rinel. "Don't know why you're asking me," he remarks casually, nodding to a seat nearby on the bench. "Desperation? Arion Harrow," he supplies easily for Mae as she isn't familiar with the redhead.

Arion looks to Mae calmly. "I am Arion Harrow. And that is not what I meant. I mean that if for example, two people die having lived a natural life and the cause of death was similar or the same, would their humors be different still? Are the humors the same for every body or does ones life and health while they were alive affect them somehow? Its just a curiousity. My apologies."

Mae's eyes snap back to Arion, as the man's name comes out. She blinks owlishly. Then, aloud, she says, "Oh." And then there's no further comment, nor response.

Lianne regards Rinel for a long moment, lips pursed, before posing, "I believe that question is better suited to a theoretical discussion than a practical demonstration. The aionic potential held within the humors is of little relevance to the autopsy." There's an 'and' there, some other thought that she doesn't offer up, moving on to the others. To Arion. "The changes persist after death, Master Harrow, sometimes to rather gruesome effect." With a glance to Margret, she explains, "In the case of the premature dessication--which occurred immediately upon the creature's beheading--something unsettling still lurked beneath the skin, mingling with the humors and clinging to the organs." She gestures with one gloved, gore-gunked hand, "There is both first hand evidence of the impact of abyssal influence on anatomy and reports from scholars past of such findings, evidence of /changes/ that a person undergoes with prolonged exposure. Always wear your masks with the weird ones, mm?" She flashes a smile then moves on.

"As to the natural differences between humors in comparable, uncompromised corpses, you'll find that there are always slight variations, though it is within a consistent range. The more autopsies you perform, the more you'll come to understand what 'normal' looks like." She tips a nod to Mae, who's offered some rather shewed insight on that point before finally regarding Derovai and explaining, "The Physicians' Guild has been dealing with oddities for a few years now. I've seen quite a few unsettling things first hand."

Rinel blushes. "Sorry." But she keeps writing, and she looks fascinated more than reproached.

Arion looks breifly puzzled by Mae's reaction to his name. But his attention is soon back on Lianne, listening carefully and nodding. He stays silent for the moment continuing to observe the body with a careful alert gaze.

"There speaks the voice of experience," Derovai murmurs to Lianne. He laces gloved hands before himself, staying quiet for the moment, his eyes on Reginald's corpse. "How was he, ah, acquired?" he wonders. "Don't tell me you dragged him out of the Pit. Do people will their bodies to this? As I told the Archscholar, it might be worth checking to see if indeed I have any heart at all, let alone a pair of them."

Mae just keeps staring at Arion. A long, long, awkward stare. And it's surely not the man's hair, this time! Eventually, though, she does look back to Derovai. "If you get the proper paperwork for your fealty, I'll be happy to assist, Derovai," Mae says, with a sugary sweet smile.

"Marquessa: In the case of a death with no obvious external signs of cause, is there an ideal period of time in which an autopsy should be conducted to determine cause of death? And a point where such an endeavor would be fruitless : the rotted corpse being too far gone to provide insight?" asks Duarte.

3 Armed Confessors, Confessor Dunn, 1 Grayson Guardsmen arrive, following Gareth.

Margret looks up from her notetaking to regard Rinel with smiling eyes, the smile on her face covered by her mask. "It's Mistress Rinel, isn't it? I'd be glad to discuss the properties of blood and the other humors with you after this lesson."

"Keep dreaming," Derovai retorts to Mae. "I'll put in the paperwork: 'no Cullers allowed.' Hopefully that'll be sufficient," he remarks, more dry than anything else. "And if I haven't died from drinking those Gods-damned spirits at your darts and drinking, I think I'll be all right for the time being, as long as I'm not late on the rent for the room." He smiles back, just as sweetly, to the Harlequin.

Rinel beams at Margret. "Thank you, Lady Greenmarch! It would be an honor--Derovai! Be /nice/." She shakes her head at the man.

As the conversation continues, Lianne begins to push the ribs back into place. Which, really, isn't especially easy, both hands shoving at the bloody bones before they settle back into place with an unsettling crack. "I paid, Master Voss. I heard of the accident and, expecting his vitals to be all where they ought, I paid his family for the use of his body with the assurance that it would be put to good use educating the healers and anatomists." Looking to Duarte, she adds, "Ideally, an autopsy ought to be conducted as promptly as possible, Count Amadeo. Depending on its condition and your intention, there might be something to learn, even after it's allowed to sit." She looks between Margret and Rinel and smiles before walking around to shove the other half of the ribs back into place with the same degree of effort and the same sickening sound.

Gareth has joined the the benches on the left.

"I'll add..." Mae pipes up once more, after pointedly ignoring Derovai. "That the Memorial Park provides burial for all members of the Compact, paid for by the Faith," Mae says. "Just... mentioning on account of talk of the Pit. Please, please stop throwing bodies into the pit..."

"What would you have done if you'd discovered something was amiss?" Derovai follows up with Lianne. "If you'd paid and then he'd had, ah, premature dessication, two hearts, whatever else you want to call it, and then you'd paid. What would you have done with the body then? And I've never thrown a body into the Pit," he's quick to assure Mae, as if she had any genuine concerns about his doings.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The audible clacking of a walnut cane can be heard as the scarred form of Gareth enters the room. The red coat being the first thing plainly seen about the man. His confessors fan out and place themselves about the room while the man himself slides to the benches, expression blank. His icy cold gaze shifting rom Rinel, to Mae and then finally to Derovai. Noting a rather uneven spread of seating, Gareth goes to place himself on the relatively empty benches.

Arion does his best to ignore the awkwardness coming off Mae. He offers a shy and hopefully reassuring smile her way before looking back towards Lianne as she replaces the ribs. He winces a bit, but doesn't look to be truly sqeamish.

Rinel checked composure at difficulty 15, rolling 3 higher.

Rinel shoots Derovai a glare and moves slightly away from the man. She gives Gareth a sunny smile. "Hello, Your Highness."

Duarte bows his head in thanks and acceptance of the answer. He turns to locate the source of the tapping sound. He gives Gareth a decidely cheery grin, and wave, against that ice cool stare.

Lethe glances toward Gareth as he arrives and then continues to quietly listen to Lianne.

Lianne huffs an audible breath of relief once the ribs are all back where they belong, her shoulders sinking with some small degree of exhaustion; surely, it can't be easy work for a willowy thing like her. "I'd have taken him to a safer location, reported the abnormality to the Guildmaster and the Inquisition and gathered a few specialists to carefully examine the anomaly and consider its implications." Her attention strays to Gareth and his confessors as they make their way in, a smile offered to the scarred gentleman in welcoming before she goes on. "And I would have worked to find another specimen better suited to this demonstration." Looking about the others, she asks, "Did you have any further questions about the cadaver before I finish closing him up or shall we settle into less structured discussion?" That little glint of sharp humor in her eyes makes plain the intentional joke, her awareness of how informal the conversation has already been.

"I am telling you, Derovai Voss, so you can remind others. Not becuase-..." And Mae just rolls her eyes. Over to Duarte. And then she just sighs. Gareth's cane catches her attention, and she turns her gaze up to him, and proceeds to stare impolitely for a few long moments. Only when Lianne's asking for questions does Mae look away, and her blank look is replaced by a warm, fond gaze. "No questions for the Speaker of the Dead."

"Do I look like the town crier, Mae?" Derovai retorts, but without any heat in the question. His humor is a bit muted for some reason at the moment, not quite as biting. Maybe it's the stench of the body before them. "Write it in one of your bulletins. I'm led to believe people read those." He clears his throat, flashing Lianne an apologetic smile and raising his hands in a mute epression of self-defense. "A last question, Marquessa: where are the food and drinks?" Apparently someone has a strong stomach. He'd murmured something briefly to Gareth when the man sat nearby, but nothing further so far.

Staring straight at Mae, Gareth's horrible visage is unwavering and his gaze unblinking as he stares hard at the woman. As she stares impolitely the man returns the blatant staring before flashing a somewhat irritated sidelong glance at Derovai. Then he looks to Lianne, continuing to listen and watch quietly.

Lianne's smile brightens a smidge for that answer from Mae. Derovai's earns a high arch of her dark brows as she explains, "We keep the operating theatre clean, Master Voss. Out of respect for the injured and the dead. I'm sure you understand." As if his question had been sincere. Turning her attention to Gareth, this time with a low bow of her head, she offers, "I apologize, your highness. I was just concluding the more... visceral part of tonight's discussion. Was there anything in particular which had caught your curiosity which we might revisit in brief?"

Duarte fidgets idly with his ring, using thumb and pinky of same hand to rotate it around his ring finger. His calm demeanor looks across the room when questions are invited, then he looks back to Lianne, remaining silent.

Margret continues writing notes as the lecture concludes, and doesn't look up as the more gory portion of the lecture is concluded.

Rinel is still scribbling notes. She's humming an Oathlands funeral dirge.

Mae looks away from Lianne, as she questions the recently arrived prince. And, so, Mae goes right back to staring at Gareth.

"My apologies for arriving so late, Marquessa." Gareth states flatly. The words indicate an apology but the tone is dry and cold. "Do not let me interrupt, please proceed with whatever you had planned next." The Inquisitor Prince murmurs somewhat softly to Derovai before looking back to Lianne.

Arion waits for the demonstration to conclude before rising and bowing politely. "I must be going. But thank you, I found this very enlightening." He removes his mask smiling softly before returning said mask and taking his leave.

"Don't breathe," Derovai calls out to Arion as he goes. He looks back towards Gareth, brows raised, before looking up towards Lianne. "I understand respect, Marquessa. No need to worry on that account." He laughs a little at 'visceral part,' getting the pun, but shakes his head. No further questions, it seems.

Despite that cold tone from Gareth, Lianne smiles brightly at the man and nods. It's not unlike the friendly, wordless goodby she turns to Arion as he takes his leave. To the rest, she offers a couple other pointers as she draws the corpse's skin back up over the gaping cavity she'd been poking at earlier. "Remember that a normal body will have no particular reaction to holy water and that their reflection will show true in a mirror. Almost every autopsy will be entirely normal. An examination of trauma and humors to see what we might learn of the circumstances of death." As she finishes up and starts to strip off her gory gloves, turning them inside out, she cheerfully adds, "Still, it never hurts to check. Thank you all for coming. You're welcome to stay a while and converse, if you'd like. I hope to offer another class... soon." Ish. Who knows when.

"Than you, Marquessa!" Mae chirps, as her gaze shifts back to Lianne. She then rises up, adjusts her cloak, and then looks around. There's a check to see if anyone might need her.

Lethe nods as she looks to Lianne. "I really enjoyed this. It was very informative."

Duarte clasps his hands and rubs them together. It may have been an attempt to begin clapping before realizing this isn't exactly a theater. Well it is, but...isn't.

Margret finishes up her notes, and carefully screws the lid back into her inkpot before she stores the quill and inkpot into a box on her writing board. She stands up from the bench, and begins her way towards Lianne. Her distinctive limp makes her steps slower than someone else's might be. "Marquessa would you be willing to hold a lecture on how healers ought to deal with...abnormalities?"

Lethe has left the the benches on the right.

Lianne flashes a fond smile Mae's way at the adjustment to her cloak, but that attention doesn't linger. She takes up a towel to wipe off her hands, even though she'd been wearing gloves. Something always gets through, and it's never especially pleasant. Regarding Margret, she considers the question for a moment, lips pursed in thought. "I'm not certain I'd be the best to hold such a discussion, seeing as I'm far more adept at learning what we can from the dead than helping the living from finding themselves in that state. However, I might be able to initiate something of the sort. Perhaps the Mother Mercy might be willing. She's witnessed plenty of this awfulness first hand herself and knows a great deal more about healing than myself."

Derovai murmurs something along the benches to Gareth, and then looks between Margret and Lianne, still seated there, largely motionless. "Tell Reginald's family thank you for their charity," he remarks, "even if they did get paid. It can't be an easy thing to give your loved one's body to be... dissected."

Rinel nods at Derovai's statement. "Yes, please do. I trust the Goodman's body will be disposed of properly."

With no one stealing her attention away, Mae drifts on out, pausing only to return her mask to Fajra and blow a kiss to the woman. Then she's gone.

Mae has left the the benches on the right.

Cheryl the Assistant Innkeeper, Scourge, a sweater wearing rat-dog leave, following Mae.

"Disposed of..." quotes Duarte. "How callous." With no true indication that he really cared about the choice of phrase. He stands to stretch his legs, and linger further from the cadaver. The masks only work so well, and only for so long, after all.

Duarte has left the the benches on the right.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Derovai before departing.

"I'm sure the Harlequins will see to a fitting burial," Lianne assures of the dead gentleman whose innards she's been rustling around in all evening, a glance toward Mae as she makes her way out.