Re-introductions - Ruthenia and Calla

Aka Ruthenia's No-Good Bad Vibes Tea Party/Wine Night

Written in collaboration with the ever patient dee

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A month has passed and the dust has mostly settled in the events that took place that day when a note comes through the letterbox of the Eirigh residence. In neat, regimented cursive are the words 'Tomorrow afternoon, The Three Headed Dragon, room 17'. Perhaps Orianna doesn't recognise the hand, but Calla has seen more than enough of her spellbook to know this could only have been written by one Dr Truelove.

"Hrm".

Calla recognises both script and manner, and stands in the kitchen, staring at the note while she replays the last few weeks in her head from a different perspective. Eventually, she chuckles to herself.

"This should be interesting".

A day later, a neat series of raps sound on the door of room 17.

The door opens to Ruthenia sitting at a set table with a pot of tea and a cake under a glass lid. She stands from the table and gives a slight curtsey with a smile on her face.

"A guest to my salon, how fortuitous! I was just about to have my afternoon tea! By all means, take a seat."

The seat opposite to Ruthenia is pulled back by an unseen force.

"I am Dr. Ruthenia Truelove, physician and necromancer. And who do I have the pleasure of meeting today?"

Calla pauses mid-step. Tilts her head. Regards the cake. Then proceeds to sit down.

“Calla Prim, Arcanist”.

She fusses with her skirts, settles, then smiles.

"Well met, Ms Prim. Myrtle, serve our guest."

The invisible force proceeds to pour out some tea into a cup in front of Calla before lifting the lid off the cake and cutting her a slice.

"The tea is chamomile and elderflower and the cake is lemon drizzle. Flavours of my childhood." She gazes wistfully into the distance as she too is served by empty air. She takes a sip and her lip curls slightly. "A bit anaemic unfortunately but you can't win them all. Anyway, why don't you tell me about yourself, Ms Prim? What do you get up to here in Daring Heights?"

"It's all appreciated, Dr Truelove. Where I'm from everything is old, and age fades and matures in turn past anything... moderate".

Calla enjoys the tea, a bite of cake even more. Looks up.

"I'm the Academy's new cartographer. I have some small concerns alongside, of course. Old accounts to balance. New friends to support. But the majority of my time? I read, I draft, I study".

She leans a little closer, as if engaging in gossip.

"I must admit, I'm newly recovered from a... health issue. I've been taking an occasional turn over at the MacAdams'. Just to stay fighting fit. You understand".

"Well, if you're having health problems you can always tell me, my professional opinion comes free of charge, though it sounds like you have things under control. And yes, the MacAdams' is a good spot to refine one's skills. I can't see why the state has any issue with it, after all one needs to spar with an uncooperative partner if one is ever to build confidence in offensive spellcasting. Can't just have it all be theory."

Ruthenia eats another bite of cake and looks up to ponder for a second before continuing.

"It's good though that you are able to balance personal and professional commitments. It can be difficult, I know, so well done."

The cutlery falls back down onto the plate and she leans in with her elbows on the table.

"Say Ms Prim, you seem like a good listener. At least, that's my assumption, given that I don't know you at all." She chuckles somewhat wryly at that, as if at an inside joke that only she gets. "Might I ask for your opinion about a personal matter concerning an associate of mine?"

"Ah, to the matter at hand".

Calla's smile is cynical, but warm.

"Of course, but assuming I wasn't present, and assuming I'm... 'behind the curve'... on any context, or history, my opinion is, of course, only worth so much".

"Nonsense! It's because you're so distant from the situation that your opinion is so valued!"

Ruthenia takes a long, deep draw from her cup and once again curls her lip.

"Yes, far too weak... Anyway, the matter concerns a friend of mine. Well, I say friend but at this point I'm not certain whether I can, or even should, use that word. A colleague, then. This colleague has been known to be a risk taker for sure, arguably to an extreme degree, which has gotten her into some hairy situations. Recently she got involved in a matter that led to... dire consequences for her indeed. A group of colleagues were each able to rectify the situation so all is well with her. My main concern is that while she is woefully reckless, she's not impulsive. Much to the contrary, she plans everything, down to the letter. Which of course, if you follow the trail of logic meant that the predicament that she got herself into was also a premeditated act. So then I got to thinking, does this also mean that she intended for us to bail her out? Even without prior notification? This is where the real troubling thoughts start; is it therefore possible that all our prior interactions were in service to this eventuality? I mean, if that were the case you could see why I would struggle to call her a friend, because if ulterior motive was involved then how can I trust that there was truth to any of our interactions? I don't know, perhaps I simply misjudged the distance between us, for if she had need of aid in the future she would have just said so, no? Perhaps I just need someone to tell me that I'm overthinking things, that I just need to get over myself, because nobody would think to abuse my trust and good nature like that, would they?"

The spoon that was idly stirring the tea in Ruthenia's cup was suddenly struck against its lip ringing out a high pitched peal. Ruthenia's smile was gone.

"Would they?"

Calla's expression is neutral throughout Ruthenia's monologue. She nods along, making it clear with each point made that she's heard and understood the words. As the question is asked, she turns to one side, a wealth of emotion blooming across her features. Her eyes mist, mouth twists, she tries to swallow something. Her hand flies up to her mouth, covering half her face.

And then she begins, slowly, involuntarily, still trying to gulp it down, to laugh.

She's doing her absolute best not to, but moments later she's doubled over, crying, laughing with her whole body.

Ruthenia's usual scowl has all but returned to her and her right eyebrow began to twitch as she set both her cup and plate to one side.

"Are you quite alright, Ms Prim? As far as I am aware I have said nothing humourous."

A hand goes up as Calla tries to get herself together. She almost makes it, but then cracks again, gasping for breath around now near silent laughter. She starts inhaling carefully through her nose. Pulls herself upright on the edge of the table, tilts her head all the way back. Her voice is totally broken, but she can just about speak around pained mirth.

"This? This is the? I.. I can't. I just...I.. right in the middle... okay. Okay."

Eventually she regains some semblance of control, drops her chin into her chest to try regulating her breathing again.

A small blue hand thumps into the table. A digit extended.

"One. Things have been. Okay. Just. Way more complicated than. Hoooooo. Okay okay. I've... Yes. I'm a planner. No. I've not had a hand on it the whole way. I've not even. Wow. WOW. I've not even had the same goals. Can you imagine".

She takes a deeeep breath. Still not making eye contact, her hand lifts, rattles the china as a second digit joins the first.

"Two. There's been a lot I had no... just NO clue about. Just straight up nothing. I've been doing my best, and clearly it's enough because I'm still here and winning, but a bunch of that's just been playing the hand in front of me so fast".

Calla grits her teeth, swallows hard, and composes herself. She's smiling straight at Ruthenia through red eyes and seven feet of bruising headache.

"Three".

This time the finger just pops out of the fist. 

"For the last, I don't know? Year? I've been trying to kill a... well not a god, but... next best thing... a demigod.. an... an avatar... while he could hear everything I could hear and see everything I could see. Do you have....". She takes another deep breath. "Do you have any idea how difficult that is?"

Now, finally, she has a hold on the hysteria.

"Four. I do not, have never, haven't ever been taught how to, I..." she shakes her head. "How to trust other people. The thing I've had to do these last few months is: know how dangerous everything is, not be able to tell anyone, or share any plans, or conspire with anyone, do my best to array the best and most competent people around me, and just trust that when I fall I'm going to be caught".

Still crying, her smile turns warm. Her hand lifts. Her fifth digit extends.

"And I was".

As the cascade of words and emotion hit her Ruthenia's expression softened and she did nothing but listen and let Calla explain herself. As she finishes her last word Ruthenia says nothing. Makes no moves at all for a few seconds. Then raises a hand and snaps her fingers.

"We definitely need something stronger after all."

The wardrobe behind Ruthenia opens and a skeleton hands a bottle of wine and two glasses to empty air. They float over to the table and a glass is poured out for the pair. Ruthenia raises hers to Calla, her expression still neutral but no longer vexed.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Calla Prim. To our first actual conversation."

She samples the bouquet for a second before taking a sip.

"In my rational mind I already knew about everything you told me. Your new roommate and the others apprised me of the facts, only after they admonished me for calling you a fool when I heard of your demise. Well done for making good friends, by the way, I doubt anyone would ever defend my honour like that. And I doubt Ms Eirigh will ever have a positive opinion of me again, not that I blame her of course. Of course you play the hand you're given for what else are you supposed to do, of course you've been through the hells and back and of course I couldn't possibly imagine what it is to contend with a minor deity, although if I am to make the omelette that is my goals, I probably am going to have to crack a divine egg or two at some point, so I'd be most grateful for any tips you have. No, rationally, you've done no wrong."

Cupping the glass in her hand Ruthenia takes a longer, deeper drink before laying the glass on the table and leaning her head against her hand.

"Irrationally, this was about what I felt. I didn't think I was used, I felt used. I felt like I couldn't be trusted. I felt like an outsider in your life, even after I had trusted you enough with things personal to me. Now of course, in this situation it couldn't be helped. And now that you are a free woman I have no doubt in my mind that you are going to act different but I need you to understand that neither I nor anybody else should have to tolerate feeling that way. I finally get to look at you and see you for what you are. It's a good look, so don't lose it. Clarity and honesty is all people need to trust you. And trust is a two way street. Perhaps once you're comfortable with people trusting you you'll be better at trusting others in turn."

Ruthenia paused for a second, before a mischievious grin appeared on her face.

"In fact, would you like to try an exercise in trust?"

Calla's been tidying herself up while Ruthenia talks: a little parlour magic, a small handkerchief from a pocket. As the glass is offered to her, she tilts it to Ruthenia's and ruefully knocks back half the contents in one go. She burps quietly before speaking.

"Excuse me, sorry. You know, I sometimes forget you're human. But yes, things are different now I'm not the scion of an elder elemental bent on tearing the Material apart. And certainly: lay out your exercise. In for a copper, in for a gold. I'm curious as to whether this street does run two ways. Whether you'll tell me about these goals of yours and where they come from".

She takes another bite of cake, mumbling around it, gesturing with a tiny fork.

"Hard to help without history or context".

The Arcanist joyfully raises an eyebrow, happy to turn some tables.

"Ha!" Ruthenia scoffs at the challenge thrown down before her. "If that's the way you want to do things, fine. This was supposed to just be a little game; small secrets and embarrassing moments that we exchanged in turn, gradually escalating. But I suppose you want the good stuff up front, so telling about the boys I kissed as a teenager just won't do. You want history? You want context? Then eat and drink it up until you're full and then some. Just know that I'll expect the same treatment in turn."

Ruthenia knocks back the rest of her glass and then shakes it at empty air, causing the wine bottle to float over and pour her another glass. She stands and walks over to the window.

"You will call me an imbecile after we are done, but I don't personally care. This is the sum of what my life has led to."

She rocks her neck back and forth, leans against the windowsill, and begins.

"I was born on a summer's day to indeterminate parents who did me the kindness of giving me a name before dumping me at the door of Our Martyred Father's Monastery and Convent School. Marty Farts is what we called it when the adults weren't listening. After my infancy I was given a decent education, mathematics, writing, theology and herbalism, all in service to our lord Ilmater. I don't know how much you know about human gods but Ilmater's portfolio contains charity, healing and self-sacrifice. We were taught that it was noble and virtuous to give up yourself for the greater good of people around you. And I was a true believer, although when you're a young girl what else are you supposed to believe in except what you're told?

I wasn't a completely chaste girl, of course. I'd grow hemp in secret locations on monastery grounds for recreational use and naturally we'd sneak off to the nearest town to meet boys and maybe even take a sip of beer if we were feeling particularly daring but otherwise I was perfectly devout both in my studies and my faith."

Ruthenia's face curls as she reaches up to touch her hair. Not the strawberry blonde curls that cascade from a ponytail now, but the straight, platinum blond hair that would have framed her face a lifetime ago.

"I'll spare you the details but a senior priest attempted to manipulate my faith to have his way with me. And I almost let him. But the disquiet in my heart defeated the doctrine in my head. I decided to kill him. And I probably would have if another senior sister hadn't gotten there first. Clearly I wasn't his first victim, and she decided to take action when she realised that the torment didn't end with her. We covered it up as an affliction of the heart and I was whisked away to run a chapel in a small village with my faith shaken but not shattered. Moral degeneracy within the clergy didn't mean the core premise was flawed, I concluded. With Ilmater guiding my hands there was still much good to be done in the world."

Ruthenia takes another sip from her glass and turns back to Calla.

"I'm not even close to the end of this story, but that about covers until the end of my adolescence. What say you, do you wish me to continue or do you wish to elaborate on your history and context?"

“Please,” Calla swallows a bit more cake, makes a double circle with the fork, “continue”.

"As you wish. Little Heath was a small halfling village of at least 73 inhabitants, mostly subsistence farmers. They didn't really care for chapter and verse but were grateful for the services of an apothecary and healer of sorts as well as the presence of someone with a modicum of education. They saw it as an opportunity to occupy their children and get them to read and write and learn some basic arithmetic. Indeed, my little chapel quickly became a little schoolhouse."

She smiles, with none of her usual sardonic expression.

"It was an easy life. Teach the kids in the morning, treat some minor ailments in the afternoon and tend my garden and read books in the evening. Peaceful. I had already begun to study magic back at the monastery and now used my free time for further practice. It's where I learnt my first cantrip, Mold Earth. I thought I could help with ploughing and digging in my spare time. I felt like I had found my place to be. I was genuinely happy."

The smile quickly fades and she gazes into her glass.

"That's when the plague hit. I had seen one case in the afternoon and stayed with her while I sent her husband to the nearest town to fetch a paladin or cleric; she was gone by the morning. I took her daughter to the chapel because I needed to get her out of the house and then a couple of the other children told me that their parents were sick too. I knew then that the situation was already dire so I took action. I barricaded the chapel doors for I knew I had to separate the children from the adults to prevent exposure. I had access to a well and about 4 days worth of food for the children. Naturally I didn't factor myself in that calculation. I thought that if we could hold on for that long then we might get past the worst of it. The only thing I could do for the adults was pray."

She pauses for a second, then swiftly finishes the rest of her glass, putting it to the side for Myrtle to fill again.

"Needless to say the villagers were not happy with this. I tried to explain but it fell on deaf ears. By midnight I had gone from being the village healer to being a witch that had cursed the village and had stolen the children for nefarious purposes. They soon broke through the door and took all the children away, save for the daughter of the lady who died, who I had managed to hide away. I think the only reason my life was spared was that they saw the fear in my eyes, and perhaps subconsciously realised that I was no witch, merely a girl that was trying her best.

So I was alone with the girl, who after her father not showing up I had to assume was now an orphan. Little Lillia was so brave. She worked out quite quickly that her parents weren't coming back and she never cried or complained. She started coughing and developed a fever on the third day. I did my best; plenty of fluids, witch-hazel as an antipyretic. But she just got worse, and soon enough I too was beginning to succumb. It was no longer viable to cloister ourselves; the only hope was to leave and attempt to get to the nearest town ourselves. I strapped her to my back and gathered as much strength as I had and stumbled out. Every piece of my body was telling me to stop but I had to keep going for the sake of that little girl. If I couldn't even save her then what use was I? I kept marching forwards, and in the distance I saw a man in Ilmateri robes, not just a priest but a cleric. I practically ran to him, unfurled the bundle on my back and prostrated myself before him, begging him to heal this poor child. He placed a hand on my shoulder, purged the disease from my body, then looked me in the eyes and told me that there was nothing he could do for her. That she was already gone."

She strides back to the table and takes her seat again.

"I cursed it all. Cursed the world. Cursed Ilmater. Cursed the cleric. Cursed myself. I cried and screamed and Brother Matthias held me until I was done."

Ruthenia was now well into her third glass.

"I said at least 73 inhabitants because that is the number of graves I dug over the next few days. Brother Matthias would consecrate their bodies and I would bury them. In multiple ways that man is the only reason why I'm still alive. He said he came after catching wind of a witch's curse and decided to investigate for himself before the local paladin's order got here. He offered to shelter and defend me, and said that he'd even take me on as a personal assistant. I would go with him on his travels as he attended to his clerical duties. It was a good deal, but I couldn't take it. I had lost my faith completely. I couldn't believe in a benevolent god that would allow this to happen. I couldn't live with the fact that the ability to grant life saving magic is possible and yet was withheld. Why had these people been abandoned in this way? I asked Brother Matthias about the nature of divine magic; how it came to him and not others, and also on the nature of resurrection. He stated he didn't know. He stated that he thought I would've been a good fit and yet here I was, prayers unanswered. He told me that resurrection is difficult on two counts; one due to the technical skill required and the other due to the resource cost. Diamonds are expensive meaning that the only ones who can afford it are princes and kings. The injustice rattled me. So salvation was a good to be bought and sold? I hated that thought. I know Brother Matthias would have tried his best to make me a happy woman, but I knew I couldn't live like that. I left another home in bitter grief, and began to ponder on what I had witnessed. Wasted life with no meaning behind it. All that wasted potential. This was when I had the first thought in my mind of discovering resurrection magic free from divine influence. Anyone could become a wizard, after all, a simple priestess girl could dig holes with her mind after a couple of years of study. If resurrection magic was possible with low cost and without the requirement of divine influence, how much wasted life could be restored? How many masses whose potential was squandered by fate or malfeasance could be reborn and allowed to live out the full extent of their lives? The first step of course was to understand in its totality the art of necromancy, which led me to the only place on Faerun where the art is not only permitted but lauded; the Eastern Regency of Thay."

Ruthenia fixed Calla with her glare. Even if her eyes were now a light brown instead of their old grey they still had the same hawkish intensity at times.

"I will have your opinion at this time. Was this a noble cause or just the grief reaction of a girl who couldn't cope with her failure? A worthy academic venture or just the ramblings of a former devout with a chip on her shoulder? What say you, Calla?"

"Me? Oh. I have no useful opinion beyond the purely academic. My kind reincarnate by default. I'd wager that your new form doesn't buy you entrance to that. Unless you've personally aggrieved Corellon in the last season, I suppose. It seems easy enough to do".

She ponders for a moment or two.

"Personally? If someone told me I had only, uh.. 150? Years. At best? To live.... in total? I'd certainly fight tooth and nail to get a recount. And given that I'm a wizard, and that the upper ends of arcane might allow for almost anything, I dare say I'd succeed. At least for a while. Archie seems to have cracked it, but again, resource cost".

There's a flicker in her gaze, as if she's suddenly dredged a problem up from her subconscious, solved it, put it back.

She smiles.

"As for value or justice? The gods don't know what justice is, just high-minded self-interest. There's no consented accord between an individual and their lifespan. No promise made other than on their behalf. The cheaper solution is simply to destroy every diamond you find, but I see no intrinsic flaw in your approach, other than its limited scope. You can't be everywhere all the time. The bottleneck becomes you, instead of divinity or diamonds".

"Calla..." Ruthenia sighed with the concern of a school teacher. "What did you do? I know I'm destined for the Wall of Souls but please don't go joining me."

Ruthenia shook her head with a smile.

"The actual span of life isn't a factor for me. This is likely cultural differences showing but I happen to believe that seventy five years if one is lucky is perfectly enough to lead a full, rich and worthwhile existence. Indeed, the prospect of my 250 year extension on that is somewhat overwhelming. And in regards to Dr Haltuhr, he's... cute, in multiple ways, but if he's been going around as if he's made a grand discovery then that would truly be just adorable. I was trained in a nation ruled by a lich, with 8 liches under him followed by an innumerable number of vampires, mummies and greater undead of all varieties. You think we might know about how cloning works. It's a horrifically flawed method of self preservation; the 4 month incubation period alone is a vulnerability, not to mention the labour in acquiring and safeguarding a suitable vessel. As you say, resource costs, but yes, if you want to live longer than intended without losing all grip on reality, sanity, society and if you're so inclined, morality, it really is your best option. I even planned on doing this before I reached my natural end so I could return to my 21 year old self, but that's hardly necessary now. These curls are more troublesome than my old hair but I suppose one can't have everything."

She chuckles at her own joke before continuing.

"I'm glad you share my opinion on the gods. That saves me a lot of pontificating. As I was saying, it's not about extending the length but allowing people to reach their natural lifespan, defying fate and chance. And about bottlenecks, who's to say I'll be the only one? I have been student and teacher several times over and that is not about to stop now. I would teach this ability to those who would teach others and in time it will have been as if I stole a piece of the divine cosmos and given it to the dirt of this plane. Wouldn't that be an excellent way to defy them?"

She polished off her wine glass again, sighing a little.

"Or maybe I'm just a tired old lady who's seen one too many dead before their time."

She leans back in her chair, lost in myriad memories for a second, but eventually comes back and lays her elbows on the table.

"You know most there is to know about me. The rest is just my rise and fall through Thayan society. Maybe another time. For now I need to let you know my intentions concerning this situation with the Archwyrms and Primordials. I am unaware of the finer details of the war but I do know it needs to end. We cannot allow the scenes that occurred outside Ms Eirigh's house to happen again. The people of this city do not deserve that. I will make myself available as necessary to bring this conflict to a swift and permanent resolution. Draw a neat line under it so that these Archwyrms can let go of their attachments to these heralds. I am not shy about stating how that kind of bond is uncomfortable. I do hope that the relationship between you and yours is strictly professional and not this ersatz familial relationship the others seem to have adopted. And yes, I know that ending this affair is easier said than done, but as you're well aware by now, I give myself lofty goals."

Calla almost chokes at seventy five years but otherwise listens attentively.

"Regarding your goals, this is not my..." she searches for the right idiom, "horse? But if you have need of a sharp mind when it comes to strategy: the who and where of it, I do indeed have practice, and perhaps less fear than I should. When you know which door of the heavens you wish to crack..." the words trail off and she shrugs, "much can be achieved with patience and will".

"For my own positioning, rest assured that I am increasingly recovered and the author of my own contract. No loopholes this time. No hidden clauses. The terms are, as I have no doubt is normal, those I would pursue naturally. With exit at my discretion and without penalty. As long as I don't start a fistfight with Mystra herself, I should be fine. The others..." Calla tilts a blue hand back and forth. "Are less accustomed to oath and pact. Digs aside, they largely have second-hand experience of it going wrong, and are lead more by the heart than the head. I understand your caution and I agree a swift resolution is ideal. Even if our understanding of that word is different".

She takes a deep breath.

"I do worry that time is not on our side. Seventy five years is nothing, and if it persists war will turn even Orianna sour, even Frigus unforgiving. But our cohort is now complete, and... for now, formidable. Orianna and I both believe that matters will reach a crescendo sooner rather than later, and all the better for it. The Archwyrms are gathering and acting in concert, while the Primordials are increasingly fragmented. Especially now it's abundantly clear that Arcravine will sacrifice any of his kin to ascend".

Ruthenia bows her head in appreciation.

"I thank you for your offer of assistance. It is already more than I ever would have asked of you. In time I may call upon you to honour that commitment, but rest assured that it shouldn't be any time soon. This war is a different matter. I am more than acquainted with the heart-over-mind policy of your colleagues and while this is perfectly serviceable in day to day living it is entirely inappropriate on the battlefield. If this isn't amended or at least accounted for then you will have to take the lead in these matters. At least, either yourself or the dull knife, but if you couldn't already tell, I'd rather it be you. But still, heart-over-mind has led to a united front, which as you've noted is your strategic advantage. Let us hope then that the next push will be the one to tip the balance overwhelmingly in our favour, such that we may preserve their good natures. Call upon me as you see fit; for my sins I have experience in military campaigns and I can advise, although I cannot lead; your colleagues by and large are not particularly fond of me and if they knew me to my fullest extent I imagine this would become abject hatred."

With a wave of her hand the rest of the cake was wrapped up in paper and the wine bottle slid over to Calla's side of the table.

"I've taken up far too much of your time for my silly little whims. You seem quite pleased with the cake so I'll leave the rest to you. Take the wine as well, you can have it with your dinner. Please give my regards to Ms Eirigh and let her know that provided she dispenses with the attitude that she first came here with that she is more than welcome here. And Calla..."

She takes a bit of time to come up with the words, but eventually does so with a gentle smile on her face.

"It's good to see you for real now."

Calla readily bundles up the cake and wine. She gets to her feet, executes a neat little bow.

“Thank you, I’ll consider this ample payment for my time. It’s been a very… human… conversation, but no worse for it. And I’m glad to have given what you needed. If this is the price I pay for a peer, with good food as interest, I’ll happily do so again”.

“As for Orianna, that comes from a protective instinct any abjurer would be proud of. I would prefer the two of you not be at odds, but you’re both adults and will do you want. I will say though, she’s made of sterner stuff than most realise. She’s seen more of me than any other and hasn’t flinched yet. Her Wisdom, my Will: I do believe we’ll make it through this war intact”.

A hand takes in the scene around Ruthenia. The place settings. The wizard. The dead.

“That said, it’s good to have a place for cold acumen when required”.

She makes for the door, opens it, turns her head back.

“A pleasure, Dr Truelove. Give my best to your friend”.