Athos does, indeed, grimace as the harsh light briefly fills the room, wondering how men do survive in such conditions without going wholly blind. Still squinting a bit as the light returns to normal, he observes, “I understand about half the words you say, I will have you know,” though at least the tone of their banter is familiar. He must take comfort in that much, no matter what else is in flux.

“I fear I will be forced to accept your advice in all things, I understand so little.” He eyed the coffee in its strange carafe, but then chose his more familiar wine. “God help me."