When Break answers the door, the first thing he does is blink stupidly at Barma for a moment. He's a bit of a mess -- hair in a ponytail, vest off and shirt untucked, armwarmers off to reveal his tattoos and ring. Behind him are the usual signs of a man in the middle of a creative fit; in Break's case, there is fabric strewn about the place and a half done frock coat on a dress form in the corner. A treadle sewing machine sits to one side, there are patterns draped across his bed, and there's a white ferret curled up asleep in a bucket of buttons on the table.

Apparently someone has been coping with recent events by sewing instead of sleeping.

"Oh!" he says after a moment, realizing he's staring. "Barma. Come in." He throws the door wide to allow the other man in, and then heads to clear the table of knitting and sketches.