I am in misery.

That's already more than my usuak breakfast. Nice.

I am a husk.

...Like coffee and pastries? That could be nice.

Bite--?

You're a strange one, aren't you? Hah.

Well, there is reason for me to be here — even if I'm here by choice, rather than... Well, ah, it can be opened. No need to break your teeth on the cage, no?

( A hand reaches the mechanism, opening the door. In shambles, but still managing a refined demeanor. As he exits, he stretches. ) Well, I am not a good man. With repentance impossible, languishing alone seemed like a fitting penance.

❝ It back. ❞

Collapses.

Do I...? Hah, I suppose I do. It has been a while, however... There is no way for me to 'fix' what I've done — ah. It seems I have forgotten how to carry myself after all this time. ( A stretch. ) Food, though. Food sounds nice.

A cafe, huh...? And perhaps I could be better — maybe, maybe I could rise above it, no? Still... It would be too late regardless. ( He's not putting up much resistance, simply walking along. There is something bitter about cafes. Alas. )

I am... Not pessimistic, I'd say mere realims, but... Haha, perhaps 'working on it' may be the cure. ( He hasn't appeared in public in a long while, now. And he still looks presentable, somewhat. Walking towards a cafe -- some nostalgia to it all. ) I must thank you.

Oh, if it's too full, I'd... ( He's turning around, before recognition sets in in some of the passersby, turning to look at her, as some sort of cover. ) We'll have to wait, it seems. It is no matter, really. I could just--. Go back, perhaps?

Oh, no it is quite alright. I have not gone out in a while, is all... I do get flustered by crowds, easily. ( The Detective Prince, however, has to act as inconspicuous as possible — to avoid getting recognized. )

I am no longer mentally ill.

...Trust me.

Well, I don't have a gun on me right now. That's a change for the better, no?

How do I. Look, I don't have a gun, see? Not in my jacket or--.