Through his weary fog, it takes Sarkan a moment or two to place the familiar voice. Ah, it's the Cosima woman from the research division, which he has recently taken to splitting his time amongst work for them, the labs, and the Darktown Clinic. Of all the people that might have interrupted his late-night alchemy bender, she is one of the lucky few he minds least. He swallows his food and mops his face with a pocket-kerchief (one he happens to conjure out of thin air with a murmur under his breath) before venturing to answer her.

"Thankfully I didn't have to resort to weaselly bribes. More than half of what you see were flung through the rift with me," he snorts at last. He kicks at a trunk stowed beneath the lab table, and alongside a hollow thud, there's a very light rattle jingling from within. "Remarkably intact, thanks to my half-decent, if rushed, packing job. The rest were gathering dust amongst the cobwebs, and so I helped myself. Doubtful that anyone will miss them."

Rushed. Well, whatever he rushed for, it wasn't a mad dash to fall through a tear in the space-time continuum, that's for certain. The Dragon looks up from his modest plate and peers inscrutably at her through the dark, flickering lamplight and the gentle glow of... various unidentifiable substances.

"You're out wandering late." Implied: Need something?