[Silence falls in gently, without the discomfort that might naturally accompany two strangers who have only just exchanged names. The game has not yet started, and Sunday cannot find it in himself to disagree, however bleakly it paints their time spent in the resort so far. A waiting period — the gray static-charge before a storm, quiet and deceptive.

Before he can summon a response, there's a knock on the door, and a staff member enters carrying a tray of desserts: shortcake, tiny donuts glazed with red sugar, ginger cookies, strawberry cupcakes. These are set neatly on the table, along with... a bowl of peppermint candies, evidently 'on the House'. Sunday eyes these cautiously.]

Please, help yourself. I might be careful of anything given to us for free — I don't know what these are.

[Aphro??? Or something less sinister like the champagne's floating curse? Either way, unfun.]

I suppose I should see if my own ailment has worn off.