[Carlisle nods, his eyes on the teapot as he pours one mug, then the other, scooting the first toward Michael. He'd hoped hosting would help ease his mind; it has not. Perhaps he should put more faith in conversation.

Unfortunately, conversation is a two-way endeavor, unlike confessional. He pushes a sigh through his throat.]

It's quite normal to imbibe where I am from. I have long thought it a reliable method for dulling the claws of my fears, but Glacius would argue otherwise. It was easier to deal with the aftermath without someone around to suffer it.

[Or so he thinks. It's hard to remember sometimes. That was a part of the point, though -- to drink until he can't think anymore.]