The Doctor placed his cup of tea down on the table and straightened his back, and Adal glanced over to his master in confirmation: after a few trials with the violin bow, Adal began to play a melodious song and the three others listened but momentarily in silence. Adal, however, was staring plaintively at the journal now placed in the green-eyed lord's responsibility-- it was rare that the doctor gave out those strange black books, and never had he recollected the information he was so promised by Grimm owners in the past.
It was a wonder to Adal how this journal in particular would never be seen again by the eyes of its crafter, though upon looking at the Servos he figured it would not be a plain end. He let slip a small smile and continued to play with a more eager air, for guessing games always made for excitable song, and so did imagining the many curious ways the previous Lord might have died.
Perhaps, like so many others, the noble Servos would retain her mind from bemusing folly, for a unique lack of sense was one thing the Doctor did not caution about this Plague's particular alignment.
END
