The pieces are dumped unceremoniously in the scuttle; Lemm is meticulous, plucking the tiniest chips of porcelain off the floor just to be thorough. He rises and comes to take the cloth when they're done, sparing a glance at the page as he wipes his hands off.

"Don't be ridiculous," he retorts. "Grabbed you like a tiktik. Not your fault."

He returns to the puddle of tea and kneels to mop it up with the cloth.

"Sounds like it was dumped on you like a pile of stone journals," he muses, distractedly thumbing the damp fabric at the edge of a tile and examining the result disdainfully. "Probably good to remember you don't have to go through it all at once. Probably best you don't."