The Fool - [i]one does not doff their armor until the hurley burley's done, and the battle's fought and won [/i]- ambles amiably up to Coleman, claps his shoulder. This close to the fires, and after so much [i]dancing[/i], the Fool is drenched in sweat. Their shirt hangs loose around the edges, but clings tight and translucent to what flesh it touches. For now, they are more themselves than ever. A version of themselves that isn't bothered by trains, anyway.

"It's a good thing you were here, you know." The Fool gestures grandly at the chaos. "So you know, more than anyone, that there was nothing more you could do. That you did everything you could. I don't know what you did - but I know [i]you[/i], and I don't doubt it. You shouldn't."

The Fool taps their pockets and - yes, they do still have those foraged mushrooms, of the station. Maybe there's something useful in them. Maybe they'll just be sentimental. Something to keep in mind, for when Coleman isn't so very busy. 

Another to keep in mind; "Caranadir" may no longer be armor worth wearing, with his child dying as it is. Glide over to Jackdaw, to see which face she's wearing, shall we?