"Good afternoon, Mr. St. John," Jason says with a polite, distant nod. The cards are finally starting to feel a bit more broken in. The waiter has just brought him a fresh cup of coffee; Jason stirs cream into it, the little spoon making a soft silvery noise against the edges of the cup.

"You don't appear sanguine about why you're here."

Sanguine. Ha. Etrigan snickered appreciatively for his wit.