"I am."

"Just between us things that actually exist, my condolences. --I see no harm in turning to fictional worlds, when the real won't do. That said, the human imagination has lead us to so many very palpable places thus far."

"Even fiction comes up empty these days," Carter says bitterly. "If only we could return to the mind of a child--"

"I think that is generally considered to not be desirable. You know. Psychologically."

"It would certainly make paying the bills harder," Terrence commiserates affably.

"I think you've undergone a process of classical conditioning," Leo says earnestly. "You've spent so much time disappointed at reality that you automatically feel disappointed whenever you see anything real."

"I think if reality didn't want to classically condition me into thinking it's disappointing," Randolph says, "it should try being less disappointing."

"I think you're really underestimating the giant squid here," says Terrence. "Have you - there's a tentacle in formaldehyde at the Museum of Natural History, it's ten meters long. Animal as it may be, if reality's your issue, it'll put the awe of creation right back in you. ... I use that as an example, of course, although come to think of it, if you're in town, it seems as worth a try as anything else."

"Do you think I am not aware of the concept of tentacles. I write for Weird Tales."

"Point taken," says Terrence meekly.

"You're just like the rest of them. Shallow and unable to see the deeper truths in the world."

He stalks off to the punch in order to get drunk.

Terrence is crushed.

"Oh dear. My apologies," he says to Leo.

"That certainly was a series of events," Leo says, rather flustered.

Oscar's no expert in interior design, but everything about this room reflects the expensive taste of whoever furnished it, presumably Lady Malcolm. He's torn between a sneering, automatic tangent about aristocrats (though what do you expect at this event) and grudging respect for taste. Then a vaguely familiar voice catches his attention.

"I didn't mean to imply that a museum visit would solve all the ills of the world - more that, ah, well, if you crave ineffability, there are places it can be sought out. But, well - uh. Well."

"Are you a man of science?" Leo asks hopefully.

"A historian!" Terrence says brightly. "So - no, not really. But my expertise is in, ah, long-dead documents and trying to reconstruct the beliefs and, I suppose, the mindset, of the people and the societies that bothered to write them down. The element of interpretation makes me think of it as, as a sister to science, at least, if I may. I'd call it a sort of sociology as much as, well, facts and dates and so forth," he adds. "You are yourself, yes?"

Jing Yi walks up the stairs. Good news: Terrence is there, and if he sticks to history, maybe they can all avoid discussions of that one banned French play. Bad news: Oscar is also there, and it is too late to back down the stairs.

"I am a psychiatrist," Leo says.

"Ah! That sounds fascinating. And, uh, trying, as well. Do you have, uh, a particular area, or...?" Terrence doesn't know a ton about psychiatry.

He is going to sit down next to Terrence and definitely not use him as a human shield and smile and nod like he knows anything about psychiatry

"Well, I'm really interested in behaviorism! A lot of the Freudian psychoanalysis just isn't really based on any sort of legitimate scientific research. People are just making up stories that sound good."

Terrence is confused but interested. "Ah! I took you for a Jungian. Fascinating, people - well, they are wont to do that, it's the peril of my own studies as well. Bringing all of one's own agenda to history and so forth. I can only imagine it's all the worse with the alive and well. ...Or perhaps easier, since they can at least answer your questions."

"Well, I work with the severely insane, so often they can't."

"Oh - my friend, Miss Jing. Miss Jing, this is my new acquaintance, who is dressed as a man in a suit." Terrence says this last part playfully.