"Gross," Gerry remarks with a laugh, but there's no sincerity to it, nor bite.

He snorts at the mention of the mourning wear, and shakes his head. "Alright, alright, now I've got to practice." Standing, Gerry moves to the gazebo's railing. "Pretend it's raining, and it's night, and that there's at least three candles."

Hands on the gazebo railing and sighs the deepest, most theatrical sigh anyone has ever sighed, staring off into the distance. "Not now, Alice. I've become taken with melancholy and wish to be left to my lamentations." Then, he looks back cheekily. "How's that?"