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thisavrou_log2016-02-02 11:51 pm
heart_breaking) wrote in thisavrou_log2016-02-02 11:51 pm
Entry tags:
Closed
Who: Chara, Rinzler, Loki 616, Breq
When: The day Chara arrives
Where: Cargo Bay, Galley, Nomo Deck
What: Chara tries very hard to kill humans, and they neither find nor kill humans.
Warnings: Panic, thoughts of death, Chara warnings.
CARGO BAY -- Closed to Rinzler -- After Encounter with Zam
Time to process their new situation hadn't helped calm them down at all. They're alive. They're a child. They're back among humans. Everyone was an abomination behind their disgusting sweet smiles, Chara was an abomination too, but at least they were aware of it. Chara felt sick that their numbers were the same as when they got there, and that they couldn't seem to try everything again from the start, and their head hurt from trying so hard and something was broken about everything.
They have no one to smother from their thoughts. No feeling deep in their stolen chest as they call on whatever focus brought them back in the first place, no presence of someone's soul answering their soft cry of determination. The world hasn't rewound.
Never had Chara once thought that they'd be abandoned this way. Not by their own mission.
They need a weapon. That's the only reason they failed, it's because they weren't armed. If they're armed they can do it. They can fix their determination and wake back up at the start to do things properly.
The door hisses open ahead of them, and they barely notice the sign over the door or the great expanse of the Cargo Bay. All of it is white noise: the prizes they're looking for are in boxes along an adjacent wall, beside those ridiculous futuristic spaceship things.
Chara starts for the boxes with the weight of a mountain shifting: slow, but impossible to divert.
Galley -- Closed to 616 Loki -- After the Cargo Bay
They're getting tired.
Everything is too loud, and too bright, and their head is like a huge room stretched to emptiness. They're probably going to die if they keep this up, but maybe that's what they need to slap their life back into place. Maybe it's what's finally going to kill them after a mountain didn't.
After poison didn't.
After a garden of dust didn't.
It's an awkward time of day. The chaos on the planet below has attracted most of the crewmembers away from this localized disaster, and Chara walks unimpeded into the Galley. Their nostrils fill with air that's warm, and it smells like porridge and a home that's someone else's. These lone thoughts fill their exhausted head as they're digested, before they shake themselves and look left and right.
There.
Knives.
Air sinks out from their mouth, and they feel like a robot as they walk towards them. Good kitchen knives. They'll be sharp.
Nomo Deck -- Closed to Breq -- After Galley
Their back slopes from a great weight, and smokey eyes search the hall without seeing it. They're too determined to let a few failures discourage them completely, but it's hard not to be disheartened.
They've failed.
Failure hasn't killed them like they'd hoped, and concentration hasn't fixed anything. Maybe this is the next worthless world they were always destined for. It's more than creatures like them deserve, but it's nowhere near what they would have demanded if they'd had a choice. Maybe they just need to keep trying until inspiration strikes. Maybe fourth time's a charm, then the fifth time, then the sixth. Their gut sinks with dread at the thought, and they wipe their nose on their shoulder, stopping at a door.
The letters on their MID are the same ones as on the door. Chara shudders their breath in and out, and lifts their hand level with the doorknob. Their fist is sore from everything that's happened today, but they grit their teeth and rap sharply despite it.
When: The day Chara arrives
Where: Cargo Bay, Galley, Nomo Deck
What: Chara tries very hard to kill humans, and they neither find nor kill humans.
Warnings: Panic, thoughts of death, Chara warnings.
CARGO BAY -- Closed to Rinzler -- After Encounter with Zam
Time to process their new situation hadn't helped calm them down at all. They're alive. They're a child. They're back among humans. Everyone was an abomination behind their disgusting sweet smiles, Chara was an abomination too, but at least they were aware of it. Chara felt sick that their numbers were the same as when they got there, and that they couldn't seem to try everything again from the start, and their head hurt from trying so hard and something was broken about everything.
They have no one to smother from their thoughts. No feeling deep in their stolen chest as they call on whatever focus brought them back in the first place, no presence of someone's soul answering their soft cry of determination. The world hasn't rewound.
Never had Chara once thought that they'd be abandoned this way. Not by their own mission.
They need a weapon. That's the only reason they failed, it's because they weren't armed. If they're armed they can do it. They can fix their determination and wake back up at the start to do things properly.
The door hisses open ahead of them, and they barely notice the sign over the door or the great expanse of the Cargo Bay. All of it is white noise: the prizes they're looking for are in boxes along an adjacent wall, beside those ridiculous futuristic spaceship things.
Chara starts for the boxes with the weight of a mountain shifting: slow, but impossible to divert.
Galley -- Closed to 616 Loki -- After the Cargo Bay
They're getting tired.
Everything is too loud, and too bright, and their head is like a huge room stretched to emptiness. They're probably going to die if they keep this up, but maybe that's what they need to slap their life back into place. Maybe it's what's finally going to kill them after a mountain didn't.
After poison didn't.
After a garden of dust didn't.
It's an awkward time of day. The chaos on the planet below has attracted most of the crewmembers away from this localized disaster, and Chara walks unimpeded into the Galley. Their nostrils fill with air that's warm, and it smells like porridge and a home that's someone else's. These lone thoughts fill their exhausted head as they're digested, before they shake themselves and look left and right.
There.
Knives.
Air sinks out from their mouth, and they feel like a robot as they walk towards them. Good kitchen knives. They'll be sharp.
Nomo Deck -- Closed to Breq -- After Galley
Their back slopes from a great weight, and smokey eyes search the hall without seeing it. They're too determined to let a few failures discourage them completely, but it's hard not to be disheartened.
They've failed.
Failure hasn't killed them like they'd hoped, and concentration hasn't fixed anything. Maybe this is the next worthless world they were always destined for. It's more than creatures like them deserve, but it's nowhere near what they would have demanded if they'd had a choice. Maybe they just need to keep trying until inspiration strikes. Maybe fourth time's a charm, then the fifth time, then the sixth. Their gut sinks with dread at the thought, and they wipe their nose on their shoulder, stopping at a door.
The letters on their MID are the same ones as on the door. Chara shudders their breath in and out, and lifts their hand level with the doorknob. Their fist is sore from everything that's happened today, but they grit their teeth and rap sharply despite it.
MURDER OFF GO
For the most part, that variable hasn't changed. But the newest pair of footsteps is lighter, barely a scuff against the decking... and seems considerably more directed. The program shifts in his wingtop perch, giving the transporter one last scan before he turns to survey the newcomer below.
User. Small. Probably one of those beta-versions everyone had gotten so worked up about. The clothing templates didn't match the planetside configurations, though, and the device locked around its wrist was a clear enough identifier. A new import. Heading for... a toolbox?
It's curiosity more than any objection that has Rinzler slipping off the wing, dropping an easy couple body-lengths to land cat-quiet on the ground. It's habit more than caution that keeps his steps similarly muted. Just enough to slip around the aircraft, enough keep the [
target] [user] in his sights. He won't interfere with its trajectory, or any search it makes once it arrives. But Chara might start to pick up on a whirring, ticking rumble. Echoing against the metal walls. Vibrating through the ground.It comes with the feeling of being watched.
/Badass early game boss music starts
Chara has time to finish what they're doing. They know this like they know the monsters they've killed, and they squat down and flip open one toolbox's lid with one ear on the rest of the room. It's moderately well sorted, but otherwise not a very good find. Removing the box's top shelf shows nothing interesting below. They leave the shelf by the box.
There's another box right by it, and they crawl over and open it also. It has a better haul: socket wrenches, scattered with loose hex sockets and a pipe clamp. Chara picks up the contents one by one, hefting them experimentally. Rejects get dropped beside them, and they're all rejects. Chara's making a mess.
The weight of attention still hasn't left them, and Chara rakes fingers through their hair until they reach a tangle. This is taking too long. Pointlessly. It doesn't matter what they take, they just need something. (Something that's not the rejects.)
Their eyes slide to the empty box, and on impulse they snap its lid closed. Its handle fits in their hand. It has what they were looking for. Chara stands, giving it an experimental swing.
... Good.
Well, if you insist... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IGzJFJRkmCE
Rinzler finds those criteria very familiar indeed.
Chara stands, and the enforcer slips forward. One step. Two. Out into plain sight, just a brief turn from view or conversation. Certainly the slight tilt to Rinzler's helmet implies a question of some kind. What are you doing, user? Or maybe: who's that for? The rumbling is clearer now, easy to track; its source standing casually with no move to strike or draw a weapon.
Still, there's something about the fluid ease in the armored outline, the precise fix of that black mask... something Chara might recognize as closer to ready than off-guard.
/TURNS IT UP LOUD.
What a stupid question. Chara starts walking without a word, because no words will stop them now, and they're ready to walk up, run up, and smash. Their grim intent is clear to anyone who knows what to recognize. Chara thinks he probably will; his only 'words' are stamped silently at the tilt of his head, and he has a cat's poise as it holds for action.
... This is going to be hard. They refuse to give that thought a home, but they know it's true.
They're not planning to waste their smaller resources on a dash if this sorry loser's not even going to run. Unless Rinzler does anything, they'll walk until they're close enough for a dash to even matter.
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But Rinzler does recognize that stance. Those steps. The look in the user's fixed red eyes, intention broadcast far more clearly than any words might try to spell it out. He's seen it in a thousand Games, on a thousand finalists by the time they fought their way up to their end. Rinzler wonders, if he still had a face, if the user would see something similar staring back.
He doesn't need a face. He doesn't need a voice. This is what he's for, and it's almost gratifying to find an opponent so focused toward the same ends. Certainly, it's worthy of respect. Rinzler reaches back, disk undocking with a soft click to hum to life in his left hand.
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... What is it. It's glowing, and he's holding it like a weapon. It looks like one.
...
Chara's grip on the box tightens. Even if it is a weapon, it's also a goddamn frisbee. Once he loses it, it's gone. He's stupid. Chara's stupid. This is all pointless. They want this over with.
It starts when Chara surges forward and swings the toolbox down, then back, then over, and the whole half ark is aiming right into his face at an angle that'll be all hell for his neck, maybe even knocking him off his feet. Hit successful or not, Chara is small enough that they had to leap into the air to get this angle, and they're bringing feet up at him to kick off.
They have no idea how fast he is. They hope they don't lose their feet.
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After a short moment she sets down the plain cup, and gets to her feet to answer the door. She’s surprised to see a child, and a young-looking one at that, but it doesn’t register on her face.
“Hello. You must be Chara.” Her voice is even, and her tone pleasant. Polite. “Come in.”
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Not so with humans. They just didn't stop.
Chara doesn't reply out loud, walking past her to stand in the middle of the room. This barracks is the first one they've seen since arriving, and the presence of wood is jarring after the metal outside. There's four bunks. People on this ship live together, or maybe this lady wastes all her space by herself.
Chara stares at everything with their mouth slightly open, just breathing. They'll finish things in a minute. Just--just a minute.
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Even without her implants, without being fed the intimate biological details of heartbeat, stress levels, breathing patterns; even without all that, Breq has spent a thousand years carefully watching her human crew. Becoming intimately familiar with human expression, and the ways that the mental state manifested itself physically. Even without mechanical aid she can recognize subtleties of human behaviour that most humans barely acknowledged as existing. Breathing rate was easy. Watching the movements of eyes, the tension in the shoulders, the way they use their hands, the exhaustion that comes off them like a wave - much harder, but clear as day to her. Still, without experience - without knowing the individual - that information is difficult to understand, at best. Utterly useless, at worst.
But in all her experience, she's never seen quite this combination of traits on a child.
Breq doesn't move.
"Can I offer you tea?" She gestures now to the tea waiting on a small table. She'd made sure to bring extra cups from the mess hall. It wasn't fancy, but it was an important part of Radchaai culture. The culture she was pretending to be a part of. Her expression is mild. Bland.
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Again they don't answer out loud, but they walk to the table, looking down at the cups. They want her back turned, so maybe if she passes them to sit down, or maybe they'll even just let her sit down and strike at her then... God they're so messed up, but that's nothing new, and the only important thing is to grasp at any advantage they can get. They need it. They need to figure this out.
Chara picks up the cup and looks down into it, holding their breath. Smell presses against their nostrils anyway. The cup is hot.
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"It's not poisoned, I promise."
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Chara meets her eyes, mouth straightening out to an almost-smile. Of course it's not poisoned. It is, however, still slightly hot.
They fling the tea towards her eyes, and the teacup crashes against the wall. Chara lunches forward and musters all their strength to drive the weighted instrument at her face, and dashing her brains against the wall is sick, and messy, but they might as well get used to it because they're killing humans, now, and humans are going to leave messes.
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But Chara might need to watch out for the rebound.
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Chara's eyes fly open and they yank their head towards the ground. It's a close enough call that they imagine they feel heat coming off the weapon as it passes, giving that same sound-but-not-sound that tipped them off. It's wind. Or maybe it's some hidden electric whine.
Either way they look up after folding as low as the toolbox beside them, pulse pounding. He's good. Lucky for Chara that they're better, all by sheer virtue of how they'll have infinite chances to learn his style, but still. Chara's transition to a run is anything but graceful, but they've never worried about that, and they're charging for another hit, this time keeping closer to the ground.
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The next throw lashes out before Chara can close—not a direct attack, but sideways, ricocheting off a stack of metal crates and leaving a deep score behind. The rebound will pass right through Chara's path... and even if they're quick enough to duck again, they might not want to count themselves completely safe. The enforcer moves nearly as quickly as his weapon, two steps and a low sweep, using his longer reach to try to knock his target's feet out from beneath it.
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He's close. The toolbox is too ungainly, so they bring an arm level with their head (his neck) and launch at him from where they are. Usually they're terrible at fights this close up: they're too small to leverage strength, and too slow to draw any surprise weapons. They'd be more careful if things weren't what they were, and they swing the box up as soon as they land.
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Still, he can't let people assume they'll get away with things, and after a few more seconds he calls out, without turning round, voice dry and very calm.
"Not the one on the right, if you please. A bread knife is very much not a useful stabbing implement, and they're terribly hard to get hold of out here."
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... He hasn't even looked. The sound of something being chopped doesn't stop, and if it hadn't been the reason they were noticing him at all they might've wondered if he'd really spoken.
Loki gets one more suspicious look before they turn back to the knives. The one on the right comes free easily, and it has that distinctive thin, serrated shape, but they're putting it away the instant its blunted end is revealed. Of course it's made that way. They know what a bread knife looks like, but they'd wanted to see this one, as though handling it somehow opened and closed some book in a single move.
The pick up the knife on the far left. It turns out to be a fillet knife, wickedly thin and pointed. The handle fits well in their grip, so they step back, turning it over in their hands.
That's that, then. They're aware that there's something twisted about following a petty request only to kill the speaker moments later, but there's no helping it, and Chara has something so much more important to deal with. They pass the knife to one hand and walk around the kitchen island. They're heading towards him, and when they get there they'll plunge the knife straight at an unprotected span below his ribs.
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Still, that wouldn't be nearly as fun.
Instead of meeting the user's launch, Rinzler slips aside, leaving only an elbow strike at their throat level to intercept the lunge. The toolbox, he blocks rather than dodges, and sparks fly as the lit edge of his disk slices deep into the metal.
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His disk-thing cut their box. Chara had grown used to being on the delivering end of this kind of advantage, tearing into monsters like wet paper, but their luck's run out, and all that's left is to adapt. They bare their teeth and shove the box to one side, whirling away as fast as they can roll. The box rattled in a way it hadn't before. The slash freed a hinge.
Goddammit. Even more replanning. If they can get away they'll account for that first.
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He's hard to sneak up on. It comes both with being particularly paranoid about almost everyone, and with his godly skill-set. He puts the knife he's holding down on the counter, turning just enough to study his attacker from the corner of his eyes.
"I wouldn't try that again, were I you- although then again, were I you, I almost certainly wouldn't believe me. Still. You'll have to trust me on this one, honestly, but continuing to try isn't actually going to help you."
He raises an eyebrow, smiling just faintly, amused and tolerant for now.
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But not much; Breq isn't human, she's ancillary...a fact she’s been hiding from everyone aboard, nevermind some child who’d only just walked into her room for the first time. And being an ancillary means she can move faster than any human could, a fact that allows her to react almost instantly, throwing her weight to the side, out of the trajectory of the raised tool. She can’t imagine a child having the strength to do too much damage, but a blow to the head could prove fatal, even if it wasn’t very strong.
As she moves to the side, she reaches out to grab Chara’s wrist, the one holding the weapon, aiming to subdue them without doing any harm.
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Chara's arm won't grow past its natural boundaries if Chara reaches it towards Breq's face, so they settle for grasping, even clawing at the same arm Breq has already extended, and maybe any other that the woman might try to add. Fingers, they could twist and crack. Jewelry they could snag and use to tug the arm towards vulnerability. Exposed skin--well, Chara's nails aren't too blunt to bite in. They're determined to cause damage, to kill, and god help them they're going to try.
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Their cheeks stain red, because he finds this funny, and they hate him for it. There's nothing funny about any of this! They start and swipe the knife forward, more to slash than pierce this time, then again more strongly.
No, they don't believe that they shouldn't do this. No, they're not trusting.
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“Stop it.” Her tone is admonishing, and authoritative, but there’s no trace of worry. She sounds like she’s scolding a talking in a classroom.
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Chara jerks their head back and lets go. Their lips have red, and they've left teeth marks, and this bitch isn't even human either, is she? Maybe Chara should have ripped a chunk out of her arm, she's probably not even made of fucking meat or anything. And if she isn't, what the hell is that going to mean if she actually catches Chara and subdues them?
The whites of their eyes are showing in a distinctly wild light, and they're heaving all their weight against the grip on their wrist. That hand isn't going anywhere, so they grab the device up in their other hand and drive it at their wrist as fast and hard as they can, trying to get as much damage as they can before the other hand that's still somehow fucking going puts an end to it.
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That wouldn't make it a good idea. Armor-clad limbs twist at the downswing of one flip, disk splitting with a flare of light. As Rinzler's body uncoils, he throws his disk: first one, then two, deadly blurs aimed to cut off (cut apart) his challenger in its retreat. The throws are faster this time, rebounding much more quickly. And leaving the enforcer free to throw again.
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The addition of the second disk is worse than they expected. They want to stay and fight to the death, but they think they can do better if they get a different angle.
They zigzag, then serve in a new course entirely. Instead of dashing for their fallen weapon's half-empty cousin, Chara is aimed for a line of shelves that might provide at least temporary cover.
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Still, if the user's been evading him quite neatly, it's hardly a fight when it won't even try to attack. Rinzler's mask angles, marking the new vector, before he moves after, two long strides and a leap. The user can get behind cover. It might even start to feel safe. But within seconds, there will be a thump of impact... and that ticking, whirring rumble from above. Shelves make an easy perch, and Rinzler isn't letting his prey go so easily.
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Fuck. They're fucked. They still can't even get lose, and their unpinned hand scratches frantically at their restraint without them being consciously aware of it.
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Its weight leans it against the wall. It's shape means it's not falling, and Chara just made themself a roof. Temporary shelter, for all of the time it'll take him to hop down.
They turn back to the wall panel where they'd been feeling. The grate panel is discolored, and they'd had the vague thought of stripping it off off and chopping it at him like a low-tech death-frisbee of their own. Air sucks past Chara's fingers and into the shadows, and when they peer past the metal they see that they lead deep into the wall. An air vent. The opening is the size of a briefcase, kind of like in movies. The vent cover has no visible screws, and when Chara hooks small fingers around it the plate pops off.
They act without thinking, twisting and backing into the abyss. It's not to protect their face, but rather because this way they can pull the panel up and click at least one side back in place.
They don't bother with the second one. Alarms are blaring strangely in their ears so that their own elbows and knees on hollow metal are barely audible, but also deafening. They crawl away at top speed: If they're lucky they'll find another exit, avoid being caught like a rat in a paper towel tube, and get at him when he's not expecting it.
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“There’s nothing stopping me from hurting you right now except for the fact that I don’t want to.” She lets her voice fall into her flat, ancillary cadence, without a trace of emotion. She’s done playing games with a child who can’t control their (evidently very violent) impulses. “But I will if you don’t stop this.”
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A wrist flicks out, and Rinzler releases one last throw. The passage is small and cramped enough to solidly reverse the advantage in pursuit; he might be able to fit in (barely), but he couldn't keep up with the small user's retreat. But it's easily wide enough for his disk, and if he can catch the target, cripple it before it passes out of reach...
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Something slices over their vanishing heels like lightning, and thunder rumbles on its far impact. Chara's hands are shaking, and their eyes and teeth are wide and bared, but they're uninjured. They didn't get sliced like a hotdog bun. They haven't bashed their face on anything they couldn't see. Score one for them.
No time to celebrate, or they'll still be here when this maniac tries rebounding the disk like an air hockey puck. Chara takes the next blind corner they find, and then another.
None of the vents they follow lead back to the room they just left. They have vague notions of going back, but an hour later they finally concede that maybe wandering around with nothing but an MID's glow is probably the stupidest thing they've done in a while.
Chara chooses a vent cover that's big enough, then slinks away.
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Disappointing. Still, not a complete loss. Rinzler lingers by the entrance, inspecting its escape route carefully. Not one passage, but many, not isolated, but branching through the ship. Doubtless they serve some function for the users, but by the enforcer's calculations, they represent a massive security breach. Or access path. Hard to say if they would extend to locked rooms, but a way to travel unobserved is always useful.
For now, he has assignments to get back to, but Rinzler saves a reminder to explore the option later. He'll keep an eye out for the user, too. If nothing else, it had been interesting.
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They leap as much as they can and try to plant a foot in her gut. Both arms hobbled, maybe even literally held in place by them--they don't know if they'll have enough mobility, but they're going to try.
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"The weight is all wrong on one of those for what you're trying to do, you know."
He says it conversationally, head tilted to one side. Assessment says it will be hard for the child to hurt him, espcially with less than godly strength, and Loki's trying not to take it personally.
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What kind of bullshit is this?! This smug bastard's criticizing their perfectly fine knife while not even taking them seriously. Anger spikes, and their pulse thunders in their ears. No one cares what weapon Chara uses. Knives make the whole damn deed easier, but they've never been particular in the first place, and if it's on hand then it'll probably kill someone just as easily as if they'd had an entire trident with a nine foot reach. Dead was dead.
No one cared.
No one except this asshole. Chara has slashed, stabbed, and slashed again, all to no avail. On impulse they pick up a cup of cooking utensils without looking and swing it, scattering spoons and spatulas everywhere. Most of them should end up flying at him, if they didn't miss, and Chara charges forward to take advantage of any confusion.
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He shrugs. This time when he steps out the way, it's with muttered words- one to make himself invisible, one to leave an image in his place. Easier to give a target that can't be harmed than keep fighting, really.
"Is this a problem with me, or a problem generally? I wouldn't be surprised by the first, but I do prefer knowing how I've managed to annoy people. If nothing else, to use next time."
The illusion's lips move in time with his own, and it mirrors his gestures, even as the utensils fly through it. Still, as much of a lesson as it might be, Loki's not about to let a child knock themselves out on his counter (bloody noses cause so much mess), and he reaches out to catch Chara's shoulder before she runs through his image.
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The analytical part of their brain lagged several steps behind their actions, and when they charge they're still barely reaching the fact that it might not work. The hand on their shoulder catches them off balance, and they're swung around by the sudden pivot that that stopped side makes.
They catch themself, but only just barely. The arm under his hand still has the knife. He'll feel their shoulder move before the rest of their arm follows, and they try to strike him while he's close.
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He sighs, because there are only so many murder attempts Loki can weather before he starts getting a little melodramatic about it, and rolls his eyes, forgetting for a moment he's still invisible. It's only mildly embarrassing when he does remember, and he sounds slightly exasperated when he speaks again.
"And now you've slashed a perfectly good apron and started blunting one of my better knives, perhaps a little calmness? You won't get far stabbing me, even if you hit. I'm not mortal, and I don't die particularly easily."
Which is possibly an understatement. Cockroaches are easier to kill, frankly.
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The only reference they have to this spectre is the hand on their shoulder and the voice coming from nowhere. They're staggering a little to try to reorient, and they grab at his fingers in the process. Ghost fingers will break just as easily as human fingers, right? They're willing to find out.
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Chara's attempts to pull his fingers off aren't likely to go well, either. Sadly, ghostly god fingers just aren't very breakable.
"You remind me of someone I used to be, you know. A word of advice- not that I'd have listened to me, either. Lashing out is all very well, but it mostly gets you pigeonholed, cast into a role you can't escape."
He offers it wryly, knowing full-well it's unlikely to be heard as anything more than condescension.
"Well, what to do with you now, I wonder? I'm a little too busy to keep fighting you all day, alas."
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"NO!"
They try to twist away, wary now in the ways they think he should've feared them. They need another weapon, and if he lets them they'll inch away to the nearest one they can see. This isn't over yet.
"You can fuck off and die," they bark. Their voice is young enough that the effect is rather less intimidating than they'd hoped, and the rest of his worlds fade to white noise. They might think on them later, but not now.