There was not much help that could be offered to the unwilling. He had learned that much through his life.

Hysterical drunkards aside.

He paused, crouched stiffly but surely to set his crate down, and reached into his pocket. He approached slowly, arm slightly extended in intention with the handkerchief, and then held it out to her at arm's length.

"Here."

Whether or not she took it, Ropati would offer as friendly a smile he could muster in the face of her distress.

"Pat Fa'afili-" he started, then tried to remember the latest misspelling of his name by an innkeep. "Faffly. Pat Faffly."