The enforcer's helmet turns to watch as she seals the door behind him, but there's no visible objection. Only a faint shift of tension, wary anticipation looping with no answer. Given Rinzler has yet to relax, it's not an especially noticeable change.

The gesture that follows is clear: order, command. Go. Sit. (Wait.) She isn't his admin, and Rinzler stalls, bristling and stubborn. It doesn't last. She isn't his admin, but his admin's hunting him. This is her place. And it hardly matters to him where he collapses. A few careful steps, and Rinzler settles in the seat, weight resting near the edge to retain at least a chance of mobility.

He's not waiting, though. Fingers curl, mask dipping toward the table before his remaining hand reaches out, wrist angling awkwardly against the corner of the surface. If he can activate the holographic keyboard on his MID, he should be able to use that with one hand. The trick is, of course, turning it on. The table makes poor leverage for pressing buttons, and he's weak and lagging now besides. Still, Rinzler keeps up the fumbling attempt. He wants words.

Not least of all because she isn't answering him without them.