Julian took note of Darrow's unwillingness (or inability?) to smile, but did not comment on it. Instead, he sent the waitress back bar with a request for a pint of his own, already considering the ways he could turn this talk with his sister's maybe-soon-fiancé into inspiration. (He'd come to the pub in hopes of being inspired; he wasn't about to put that on the backburner because someone was sad.)

"I wouldn't write off my problem-solving abilities so quick," he joked, his eyes following Darrow's gaze down to his notebook. He did solve problems for a living—or, rather, write them and then solve them. Or didn't solve them. He got himself into a tizzy trying to tie up loose ends in his stories every now and then, but that wasn't what he was working on right now. "... But no, I don't think I'll try to solve your problems today. Getting myself in trouble with Zelda for interfering with your life isn't on my to-do list today." That was a joke. Definitely. Without a doubt. "But, since I have you here, you might as well help me." It was his turn to raise a brow this time.

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