It's a relief when Francis talks; it means Raju's free to do something useful. Usually he would run, find some way to exhaust himself, but leaving would certainly be taken the wrong way. Maybe he'll do it later. It'll be colder later, with the dark, but that sounds almost refreshing just now. Instead Raju moves toward the sink, glad of the excuse to roll up too-warm sleeves, gathers up the soap and a rag and one of the pots and buckets of meltwater scattered around the place, and starts on the dishes.

Francis and his dear friend sit at the table behind him and talk. Fitzjames doesn't bleed out into the snow. Francis mentions very casually a time that's featured in a few of Raju's nightmares and Raju looks back at him, expression still flat.

It takes him a moment to realise Fitzjames is being friendly. It doesn't feel right, as if it doesn't match. But they're sitting warm and safe inside. Nothing terrible is happening at all. Raju tries to smile at him.

"You'll find one," he murmurs, the smile a small thing twitching onto his face, and then has to turn toward the dishes again.

"It's not only dangerous here, it's damned strange," he says, voice stronger and nearly casual now that all he has to do is watch his hands move. He even says it with some feeling: it's clear by the way Raju says them which descriptor is the worse one. "There are things I would have liked to be told to watch out for when I first came. But I don't think I'd have believed it. How much have you warned him about so far, Francis? Hickey, the attacks..."