[It does take a moment, maybe even a few. Watching Palamedes unpack his bag unsettles him not so much because of fear of pain or injury (although both are present), but because it means that this is actually happening. Paul could frame it as a mutual favor, in letting Palamedes make a medical specimen of him, but that's a weak rationalization and he knows it.

He's going to let someone he met less than a month ago cut into him. It shouldn't mean anything - Paul is fairly sure Palamedes could have killed him from the doorway, if not the street, if he wanted to - and he reminds himself of that, which helps. So does the hummed approval of the tea, in an entirely different direction. Paul looks at the scalpels with careful control, and answers:]

The hands. We may as well do them here, move to the desk for the larger joints. Don't be concerned about any mess.

[Still considering Palamedes' set of tools, he puts his left hand palm down on the table between them, fingers loosely spread.

There's no point in halfway trusting Palamedes about this, which is why Paul isn't flooding him with questions about the particulars (like the lack of anything to close him up with, for one). He thinks about the journal, about the room with papered walls and two sets of handwriting, about the covered bowl of ashes, and his shoulders ease as he settles into readiness.]

You can start when you're ready.

[Paul brings his gaze up and nods, as calm as he's going to manage to be, which is more than he expected.]

And thank you.