He's a flashing bullseye for every finface with an engine kink. Well! Isn't that a fucking awful thought.

Sun exposure seemed a melodramatic way to go, earlier, but now he's considering it. Or maybe crawling into that closet and seeing if he can't hide under the pile of coats. The moirails are probably sleeping: they wouldn't notice.

But Sipara's voice distracts him from his melodramatic thoughts, and he startles back to reality. He can't go and die, right. She'd kill him.

"Yeah," he says. His voice is raspy and dry. He has been out in the day for far too long. "I mean - yes. I'm alright."

"I can't stop sparking, though." He pulls a face, for all that no one can see him, and shakes his head, just to see. Sure enough, the gesture still leaves a spray of light all around him. This is awful. "Do you suppose -- should I just go back inside, and sleep it off?"

"They're greenbloods, mostly," he adds. "Maybe someone just - didn't realise I had psionics, and put the honey in on accident."