[as he said 'it's getting worse' there was a small ping of guilt. She should be helping him, but she didn't know how to.]

[Giving a sad nod, she moved, taking her plate and wine glass, and moving to the kitchen table, her bare foot kicking out a seat for him to join her. Then she plopped down in a seat of her own, a legs distance apart, but conversational.]

I am glad I left a lasting impression, even if it was only because of a slow year. And I am trusting you, against all my better judgement. But, let me ask you the same. What... would you rather me call you? Taskmaster, Ward, or Grant?