Carlisle is so buried in his own feelings -- melancholy, bitterness, ire rising in the back of his throat the longer he thinks about how one of the few good things he had going for him has been stripped from him, because of course abominations shouldn't be allowed friends -- that he doesn't hear Jacob approach. As such, he nearly jumps out of his skin when addressed: he straightens up and immediately starts with the apologies, privately grateful for the distraction. With Reynir gone and no one to wake him should he put himself to sleep with enchanted tea, Carlisle has lost his occasional respite from his own mind, as well. He will have to find a way to deal with that, lest he go mad from being insufferably awake all the time.

"Sorry," he murmurs, picking himself up, straightening his many layers before doing the same to the glasses that sit before his glowing eyes. "Sorry, yes- yes, that's me. You are?"