He stands to fetch one of his rags that he uses for painting, using it now to wipe away the remainder of the blood that's on his finger from the light trickle down his nose. "It's nothing," he insists. "It happens every now and then." He presses a clean edge of the rag to his nose, trying to give a cheerful, bolstering smile.

"I really didn't mean to forget. I honestly don't remember making those plans."