[Kit watches the smoke rise from the burning end of his cigarette, schools his expression into one of neutrality, and waits for the storm to blow itself out. The winds won't be calm, once the call comes to an end; the air will be unsettled, electric, quick to whip up into another gale. In the intervening moments that Kit has to himself, he waits for it.

This crisis between Vandelin and Myr clearly predates him by months, if not by years, and there's no amount of mediation that Kit could possibly provide that would mend those wounds. It isn't his place to be involved in it; somewhere in the back of his thoughts, he forces himself to consider the possibility that maybe his old instincts were right. Maybe he has no place in their lives at all--

--then Chuck, drunk and disheveled and in the wrong neighbourhood yet again, wobbles into view from the shadows, and Kit quickly puts out his cigarette and ambles over to kindly take his arm.] Not again, salroka, [he sighs tiredly, sends once glance towards the front door to his hovel again, then back to Chuck.] You need me to walk you home?

[He can only hope that Vandelin will still be there, when he comes back.]