[A blush crawls up his neck where D’Artagnan’s gaze lingered only briefly; his shoulders are already tightening, hitching up. While Oswald’s outfit is modest in comparison to others, he refuses to feel very grateful for it, too used to his wing-tip collars and cravats. To hiding behind layers of luxurious, carefully paired fabrics.]

My situation is may be considered unique in that my kidnapping took place at some point while I was in and out of consciousness. [He steps aside to dump the sad remains of his popsicle into the trash, crossing his arms.] I lay down to rest, and here I am! [He smiles bitterly.] But, like you, I was not alone.

[D'Artagnan has a particular manner of speech, and talk of garrisons and cadets and fire damage prompts Oswald to offer the man a second considering look from hat-to-toe. He absently wonders, a moment, if this man is a historical reenactor type. A real medieval fair nut committed to his role. But then he decides he doesn't really care, not right now.]

It is difficult, truly, being torn away from the people you care about. I know – believe me. [His mouth skews, lips pinching white a moment.] Ditching this... crude, pathetic excuse for a party may be out of the question for now. I accept that - grudgingly. But I believe we can still be of help to each other.