[sleeve is already fucked, though he does resist the urge to use it to clean his own forehead, unsure if it needs more time or something. he is not risking bringing those two back, not now, hopefully not ever.]

It was from a visit to the archives, which was a headache. I was there with a- a man with cat ears, he helped. I didn't know what would work or not. [thank god it did. all the ritual business is too vague and mystic for his liking, to be fair.

he leans into pal a little, shoulders pressed together with a sigh as he surveys the damage. annoying. his fingers are stained inky with pal's blood and he glances over uneasily when he says that.]

What memory? I can't imagine his state of mind was very pleasant, he is... well, I suppose you've seen. [a beat] Oh, she was sleeping by the tree last I saw. Once we clean up the glass I'll call her in, she'll be pleased you came by.

[and he's just glad he could keep her away from the ghost. he cannot imagine that would have been pleasant for anyone.]