[That's no good. Any ideas about then direct him back to whoever you replaced dry up, that's how no good it is. That turns this to a game of human tennis, quiet time without relief because of the anxious wait for the return hit. That won't fix the problem, but make it worse. His tone holds, easier to move past any flub ups that way. Just keep swimming.]

Cannot be so easily persuaded to find a new target if more redirection came from you, or anyone? You might not be able to return this cocktail, Frederick, but you're not alone at the bar.

[Some cocktails are set on fire, but. He remembers Georgia Madchen, "Freddie Lounds." His encephalitis. That's too far, too tasteless. Will's official second opinion is apparently irrelevant, no point in arguing a book isn't worth this. So what's left? A reminder he's committed to the well-being of his own always, then, ready to get back in the saddle. Willing to play ball, willing to participate. It's all he feels he really can do, other than...well, listen.]