Step, step. Ah, yes. The young man had figured it out. Perhaps he would open the door. Perhaps he would even go on to reproduce, or already had - perish the thought. A couple more scratches, and Ropati's head lolls back enough that he has to stop his tophat from falling off.

... Was that - no. Certainly not. Not these stiff-upper lipped British men who had a million rules for one person and broke them all in the next fell swoop.

... Yes, the man was crying.

He could just run for it. He should just run for it, but life had been a lot easier when he'd had family to save him from himself. Granted, he'd also done some of his dumbest shit trying to step in for them.

Oh well.

He stepped toward the crying man and peered down his glasses at the key.

"... Other side up," he recommended as gently as he could.