"You've been here for half an hour. You don't know that. Maybe I will." Does he do that sort of thing? Maybe. He knows that he's still alive without food or water, so maybe he is killing and eating them. Or maybe it's the Archives draining them to sustain him.

The Archivist reaches for the cup and takes it. His hand shakes and it's a struggle to keep it steady. He does manage to take a sip though and his eyes close. For a moment he can almost imagine that it is Before. He wonders what happened to his tea set. It had been a gift from a Priest-King across the sea, black polished clay inlaid with deep green. Probably stolen.

He glances down at his wrist, considering. "They are. But they've been painful for a long time so I stopped noticing."