[That judgment isn't wrong. Sunday inspects the rack of clothing from the other side, his eyes following the moth's path of flight — and though he's good at schooling his expression, there's a tightness around his mouth. Almost humor. Almost a smile.

After selecting his own outfit from the available options — the least ruffled and gaudy he can find, a black bowtie suit — he turns his back as well and begins changing. He opens his robe and shivers at a cold draft of air, recognizing how much worse this would be if he was still wet.]

I suppose of anyone else I could have woken up in a strange new world with, I'm glad it was such agreeable company.

[He can be self-reflective, and in the past, he can't say that he would have felt agreeable amongst so many unknowns. Mr. Neuvillette is naturally calm; that does seem to help.]